Parsimony
by Lomonaaeren
Summary: HPDM slash, Harry and Snape gen. After the war, Harry thinks he can finally concentrate on comforting his friends and mourning the dead. But enemies become friends, the dead come back to life, and his life refuses to be simple. COMPLETE.
1. A Summer Spent in Slowness

**Title: **Parsimony

**Disclaimer: **J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Pairings: **Harry/Draco eventually (mostly pre-slash), Ron/Hermione, mentions of Harry/Ginny and unrequited Snape/Lily. Gen relationship between Harry and Snape.

**Warnings: **Angst, violence, torture, AU after the last chapter of DH, 'eighth-year' fic.

**Summary: **After the war, Harry thinks he can finally focus on his friends and the dead instead of the whole world. But an enemy-turned-potential-friend and the dead coming back to life change his mind. Learning how to draw the line between selfishness and selflessness is only one of the things Harry's going to learn.

**Author's Notes: **This is a mostly-gen fic, despite the listed pairings. It will likely be pretty long and relatively slow in pace, though I hope to update it regularly.

**Parsimony**

_Chapter One—A Summer Spent in Slowness_

George's real collapse didn't come until after Fred's funeral.

Harry had been one of the people watching George anxiously all through the funeral itself. He had thought for sure that George would break down sobbing and need someone to put a comforting arm around his shoulders. Or he would just stand up and walk away from the gravesite, the way he had when they buried Remus and Tonks, and need someone to go after him. Harry had done that for a lot of people so far. He was mourning, but he hadn't lost a twin brother, or a daughter, or a son. It was different for people like the Weasleys and Andromeda Tonks.

But George just sat in his chair all the way through the funeral, his eyes so bright and glittering that they made Harry uneasy. Still, he didn't rise and storm and shout about and make a scene. So that part of it went better than Harry had expected.

The wizard reading out the funeral service was a witch in somber dark robes, who kept glancing up from her scroll at each of them, as if trying to figure out how sorry they were. Harry noticed that she couldn't keep her eyes locked on George for very long; each time, they would dart away, and she would have to clear her throat before she went on. Harry snorted. Yeah, well, George wouldn't throw a fit just to oblige her.

Then she left, and everyone started shifting chairs around so they could rise from the solemn ceremony on the Burrow's lawn and go inside for a breakfast that Mrs. Weasley had spent all night cooking. Ron dealt with his grief by playing lots of Quidditch, Harry thought, rubbing the broom-calluses that had formed on his hands for a second; Mrs. Weasley dealt with it by cooking. He had already tasted lots of things yesterday, but he would eat more today, because he knew that would make her happy.

"George!"

Harry whipped around. He'd half-expected this ever since he saw the witch was looking at George, and he cursed as his stupid black formal robes tripped him up. He hated wearing them, but Mrs. Weasley also wanted the funeral to be all black, and Harry would have done a lot more than that to oblige her.

George was walking away from them, his hands held out in front of him. At first, Harry didn't see what had made Ginny scream. Then he realized that George was making a sawing motion of his wand back and forth in front of him, and that some of his skin on his arm was flaking up and burning away with each motion.

Mr. Weasley was the closest, but he'd got tangled up with his chair and would be slow getting there. And Mrs. Weasley was second closest, but she stood with her hands to her mouth and her eyes wide with horror. Harry knew she would probably overcome her anxiety and move soon. It might not be soon enough to do George any good, though.

That left Harry.

He jumped over the nearest chair, ignored the sound of his formal robes tearing (good riddance), and grabbed George. George struggled against him, especially when Harry snatched his wand from him and threw it away, but all that made Harry do was tighten his arms around him in a bear hug.

He started talking to George, not knowing if he could hear him, but sure that it was still a good idea to try and reach him. "Come on, George, this isn't really what you want to do," he whispered, while they rolled on the ground and he got a mouthful of grass in his open mouth. Harry spat it out and went on talking. "Fred would want you to live and play all the jokes and flirt with all the girls that he can't. He'd want you to take care of your mum and—ow!" George had hit him in the ribs with his elbow hard enough to hurt. Harry grimly tightened his arms and shook his head. George would find out that it wasn't as easy as shaking Harry off and expecting him to trudge away in defeat. "He'd want you to take care of Ron and remind him that he isn't any lesser than the rest of you, and he'd want you to welcome Percy back to the family. You have two people to live for now. Don't be stupid and fuck it up."

George paused and stared at him, but Harry didn't know what it was that made him do it until he whispered, "I'm _never _going to welcome Percy back to the family until he apologizes for being a right git!"

Harry laughed despite himself when he heard that. He didn't know if it was the best thing to do, but it was his honest reaction. He stood up, holding his hand out so that George could take it, and George took it and stood up, giving the rest of his family a half-defiant look. Mrs. Weasley grabbed him and held him, sobbing, before he could say anything. Harry noticed that one of George's arms, the one he'd hurt, was dangling out from her hug. Bill came up and started quietly healing the skin he'd scraped off.

Then someone else grabbed Harry. He jumped and looked around, half-thinking that he'd need to fight again. It was Ron, though, and he beamed at Harry as though he'd personally rescued all of Ron's family or something. His grip was almost painfully tight. "Thanks, mate," he whispered.

Harry smiled back and gave a little shrug. "I knew that he couldn't _really _want to die," he said. "Not with Fred to live for."

George overheard Harry, and gave him a piercing glance. Harry stared back, his eyebrows raised, and after a few seconds, George looked away. Harry nodded. George wasn't suicidal, or at least Harry didn't think so. He was just hurting, and he'd hurt so much that he'd thought he should take the pain out on himself.

Harry had been there a time or two.

Someone else grabbed him. It was Hermione, and she hugged him hard enough that Harry let out a little _whoof _of air and shook his head at her. "I don't promise miracles," Harry said, when he could get his breath back. "Just common sense."

"What you did is _wonderful,_" Hermione said, and beamed at him. She had tears in her eyes, but they hadn't fallen out.

Ron cleared his throat. His face was bright red, Harry saw, and he was looking at Hermione's arms where they hugged Harry as if he wished that he could set her on fire. Or possibly Harry. Harry let her go and jumped away.

"Oh, _honestly, _Ron," Hermione said, and looked at him so hard that Ron shuffled his feet and his red face seemed to mean something else. Only then did she relent and hug him. "Yes, you're wonderful too," Harry was sure he heard her say into his shoulder.

Harry smiled and stood back for a minute, looking around at them all: the whole Weasley family, including Fleur, who was pregnant and looked more gentle and sorrowful because of it; Hermione; and him. It was a sad occasion, but Harry thought he could see threads running between each of them, shimmering, invisible threads that bound them and would make sure that they survived the funerals and what they would do to them otherwise.

They were strong. The Weasleys were strong, and he and Hermione were part of them.

It was—

It was wonderful.

* * *

But Harry still slipped away from them that evening, after everyone had reached the stage where they were telling stories about Fred and toasting him and telling George that of _course _he was going to open the joke shop again as soon as he could. It wasn't that Harry didn't want to hear the stories, but he knew that he'd heard the best ones already.

And there was something about the way that Ginny and Mrs. Weasley looked at him sometimes that made him restless and uneasy, and…he wanted to be alone more than he wanted to sit around and mourn Fred just now.

He stood with his hands in his robe pockets, head tilted back as he watched the stars wheeling above him. There were so many of them, so many more than he usually realized at Hogwarts, where he was in the school and asleep by this time. And of course the Dursleys weren't big on stargazing, and his little barred window in their house hadn't let him see them anyway.

There was something in his head, some thought about stars and distance and the way that they contrasted with the bright fire and the light in the Burrow, but Harry didn't know how to phrase it. He stood there worrying over it and trying to figure it out until another thought came along and shoved that one clear out of his head.

He'd jumped up to help George, and people had thanked him for it. But that was just nice, ordinary thanks and a nice, ordinary thing to do. Nothing like the big fake smiles on the faces of the reporters who asked him how it felt to save the world, or the quiet almost-worship that some people at Hogwarts gave him after he defeated Voldemort. He was sure that the Weasleys loved him and that was part of the reason they were more sincere, but there was something more than that, too.

It was what he wanted to do.

The realization came to him quietly, as though his head was a big scary place and it was a kid trying to travel by itself. Harry sat down on the grass, stretched his legs out in front of him, and then folded his hands behind his head so he could lie back and watch the stars in something like comfort. His thoughts were ringing like a gong.

Was _that _it? Was it really all that simple? He could do what he wanted for the rest of his life by rescuing people like George?

No, not really, he thought after a minute, when he tried to imagine himself rescuing someone else after a funeral and it made him just feel resigned, tired, and dirty. He didn't want to make a career of acting like an idiot hero. He wanted to help his _friends. _His family. He wanted to go to Australia with Hermione and find her parents, or at least help her look up the spells that she would need to reverse the Memory Charm. (He sometimes thought she didn't really want company when she went). He wanted to show Ron that he was a hero, too, and that lots of people who would look up to him after the war and respect him wouldn't do it just because he was Harry's friend. He wanted to get George living again, and learn what Bill and Fleur were going to name their children, and work with Charlie at Dragon-Keeping some time.

He even, Harry admitted to himself after a long and silent struggle, wanted to apologize to Percy for the things he'd sometimes said to him. Only _some _of them, though. Others, Percy had deserved.

He might want more than that. But he didn't know what it was yet. And surely that was enough to start with.

* * *

He found his answer to what else he could want on the day that he went to Godric's Hollow.

Ron had suggested it, but the day that Harry wanted to go, Ron was sort of busy with comforting Hermione. Hermione had been determinedly and relentlessly cheerful about her ability to find her parents for weeks, but that morning the pressure had got to her and she'd broken down. Harry had peered into Ron's bedroom, seen Hermione sobbing in Ron's arms, and quietly pulled back. This was the kind of thing that they'd want to be left alone to deal with, he was fairly certain.

He made his way down the stairs in a thoughtful mood, Apparated from outside the Burrow—they still had the anti-Apparition wards from the war up—and appeared in Godric's Hollow, next to the statues of his parents. He knew that he would never forget what those really looked like, even though there were small flowers growing all around them now instead of the snow draping them.

But looking at himself in the statue gave him a queer feeling, so Harry tugged his fringe low over his scar and kept his head bowed as he walked down the street. Most of the residents didn't pay him any attention. He was grateful for that. He'd come here for reasons that had nothing to do with his fame.

Well. It sort of did, now that he thought about it. It just didn't have anything to do with _him_. Harry was sick to death of things that had to do with _him._

He found his parents' graves without effort, now that he knew what he was looking for, and stood in front of them with his head lowered for a long time. _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. _That phrase fit into his mood as he stood there, thinking, and blended with it until Harry finally knew what he'd come for.

And what else he wanted, besides spending his life making his friend's and family's lives as comfortable and happy as possible.

Harry slid to one knee and reached out to touch his mother's name, then his father's. Then the birth dates and the death dates. Then the phrase on the tombstone. All the while, the conviction grew in him, and he finally was able to nod and accept that, yes, it was this he'd come for.

He'd never mourned the dead the way he should, except maybe for Sirius. Dumbledore's death had been complicated by everything he'd learned about him later. When he went to Remus's funeral and Tonks's, and even Fred's, he was still kind of numb. His parents had died while he was still too young to properly remember them.

_Except for my mother's scream with the Dementors, and that's no proper kind of memory._

So. He would teach himself how to mourn, and think about the dead, and then move on when he wanted to. He had the rest of his life to do that. No one was ever going to need him to save the world again. By the time the next Dark Lord came along, Harry thought he'd probably be dead or too old for anyone to expect him to do anything about it.

Peace flowed over him. Yes. He had the rest of his life. He'd survived, and it was time that he started _living._

Harry stood up and smiled at his parents' tombstone. "I'm going to learn more about you," he told them. "I know a little about Mum from Snape's memories, and a little about Dad from Sirius and Remus, but there must be other people who knew about you. McGonagall. I can talk to her. I'm going back to Hogwarts in the autumn, did you know? They've been working on the school all summer. I think people _needed _to, to point out that Voldemort couldn't destroy everything. I'll talk to her, and Professor Flitwick, and—the others. Hagrid, even. He could probably tell me things I never even thought to ask."

Why _hadn't _he thought to ask?

But the next moment, Harry shook his head stubbornly. He recognized the tone of that thought; it was blaming, and scolding, and saying that he should have done all these different things instead of whatever else he had done. And, well, _that _would be stupid, when what he'd been doing instead was playing Quidditch to stay sane and struggling through school to stay a student and fighting Voldemort to stay alive.

No. He wouldn't get upset with himself because he had forgotten those questions, or forsaken those questions, until now. That wasn't the way he wanted to play this. He wanted to live a different life. So he'd ask, and if the people he'd already thought of couldn't tell him anything satisfactory, then he would ask someone else, and so on.

Until he finally made peace with the dead.

He reached out and let his hand rest on top of his parents' gravestone for a few minutes. Then, as he turned away, with a silent promise to visit more often, he thought of someone else.

Someone else dead, who he really should make his peace with.

And as his mind lingered on those thoughts, he discovered another way to do it.

* * *

Harry coughed and stood downwind of the fire, hacked as he tried to clear the smoke from his eyes and throat. He hadn't realized that lighting a fire that burned on actual wood, not magic, would be so _messy_. He wondered for a second if that was appropriate. Snape had hated messes.

Then he shrugged. Snape had also hated magic that used a lot of wand-waving, or at least that was what he had said in the first Potions class Harry ever attended. So there were some ways the fire was right, and other ways it wasn't. Once again, Harry wasn't going to spend a whole lot of time wondering whether he had done something wrong or not. He had already had more than enough opportunities to do that to himself.

He was a distance from the Burrow, in the middle of a field that he'd warded, both so no one could see him and so the fire wouldn't get out of control. Ron and Hermione had offered to come with him when they found out what he was doing, but Harry had wanted to mourn Snape alone. Or have a kind of funeral for Snape, he decided. They hadn't found the body, just the place where it had lain. Harry was afraid Death Eaters had returned and taken it, or some beast out of the Forbidden Forest had come and carried it off.

Well, it didn't matter. You could have a funeral without a body.

Harry cleared his throat and looked around, wondering if anyone else was listening. Probably not, because of the wards, but the witch who had officiated at Remus and Tonks's funerals had said something about the spirits of the dead being called when someone felt strongly for them. Teddy Lupin, she had said, nodding at the squirming infant who sometimes sat in Andromeda's arms and sometimes on Harry's lap, would feel the presence of his mother and father throughout his life whenever he needed them most.

Maybe Snape would show up, if only to see who was disturbing his sleep and why someone he hated was holding a celebration like this.

_Because I'm the only one who really cares, _Harry thought sadly. _Except maybe McGonagall. _She had said something about wanting to make sure that Snape was honored, and stared out the window of the Headmaster's office for a few minutes after she said it. But she was busy rebuilding the school, and so they never did have a ceremony like that.

"So," Harry told the night. "This is to honor the bravest man I ever knew, the man who spied for years and risked his life each time, the man who hated my father and loved my mother, the man who was a really good Potions master and not a bad Defense teacher." He reckoned he could say that much now that Snape was safely dead and couldn't be smug at him about it. "He gave me some of his memories, too, and without his memories, I would never have known what I had to do. He's the reason the world is saved."

Harry had spent a long time trying to think about what else should be in the ritual, besides fire. He knew that fire purified and clarified, but he wasn't sure what the appropriate gifts to give to the fire were, and he had spent hours with Hermione's books and still found nothing.

So, in the end, he chose what _he _thought should go into the flames, and stopped worrying about it otherwise.

_You get to make your own decisions now. Not as many concerns about whether you're doing the right thing._

Harry held up a potions vial and turned around in a circle, so that anyone watching could see it. He felt a little silly, but also very solemn, and the stars seemed very bright.

"This is to represent the potions he was good at," Harry told the night, and threw the vial into the fire. It sparked and sizzled, the glass beginning to bubble. Harry followed that with a stirring rod and then picked up the last thing, the tattered photograph of his mother that he knew Snape had stolen from Grimmauld Place. McGonagall had sent it to him, telling him they had found it in Snape's quarters when they finally managed to break past the constricting spells that guarded the place.

It had taken Harry a long time to decide to sacrifice that picture, but, in the end, he did. He had others, plenty of others. He might even find more. And this picture had mattered enough to Snape for him to sneak back into a place where he had to know that he would find no welcome.

"And this is because he was friends with my mum," Harry said softly, and tossed the photograph into the flames.

It seemed to him that the picture burned brightest of all, although of course he couldn't be sure about that. But he no longer needed to be absolutely sure.

Harry shuffled back towards the Burrow once he had put the fire out and lowered the wards. He felt content, the way that he felt after eating some of Mrs. Weasley's cooking and playing a game of wizard's chess with Ron. He thought he would sleep well tonight.

He was learning to say good-bye. For a first try, it wasn't bad.

* * *

Of course, Harry's life never worked out the way he wanted it to. He would think of that good-bye later, and snort bitterly.

On the other hand, at least he had advance notice that his life wasn't going to be as simple as he'd like the very first time he stepped on the Hogwarts Express to go back to school. Because Malfoy was there. And Malfoy's friends.

But mostly Malfoy.


	2. The Hogwarts Express Bears Witness

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Two—The Hogwarts Express Bears Witness_

"He's not here."

Harry looked up from his conversation with Luna. As usual, he had no idea what she was describing, beyond that it had something to do with a trip to Switzerland last month to find Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, but he was _enjoying _himself, and that was rare enough lately to make him not care.

"Who's not?" he asked Ron. Ron was staring fixedly at the door of their compartment, as though he expected someone to appear outlined against it. _Maybe Snape, _Harry thought, and then shook his head. Once, the realization that Snape was dead used to hit him all the time, every few hours. Since his farewell funeral, though, there were times he forgot, until he remembered that Slughorn would teach Potions and someone new would be in the Defense position.

"Malfoy." Ron tapped his wand against his arm and frowned deeply. "He usually comes by to laugh at us and flaunt his pure-blood pettiness. Where d'you think he is now?"

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said, with the kind of frown and shifting away from her boyfriend that Harry hated to see, because he knew that Ron would moan to him later about it. "Isn't it possible that he grew up? The way we did over the summer? Or that I had _hoped _we did, at least," she added, and didn't quite do it under her breath.

Ginny, sitting against the wall beside Harry, snickered. Neville grinned, and Luna said, "Did you know that full-grown Snorkacks can toss an unwary wizard around on their horns? I would never go hunting them by myself."

"It's just that so much else is the same," Ron muttered, looking down and fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. "The train leaves at the same time, and there's so many of the same people, and the letters were the same, and—and I thought this would be the same, too."

Hermione almost visibly melted and reached out to lay her hand on Ron's shoulder. "Of course you did," she whispered. "You almost expect to see him coming along the corridor playing jokes, don't you?"

Harry looked away politely as Ginny drew a little closer to Ron and Ron nodded and closed his eyes. This was one of the times he felt he stood outside the Weasleys and their mourning for Fred. When moments passed and that tight, private feeling from the other side of the compartment went on and on, Harry cleared his throat and stood up. "I'll just pop out and see where the cart is, shall I?" he murmured.

No one seemed to notice. Luna was staring out the window, and Neville watched Ron and Hermione and Ginny with an expression that made Harry think he probably mourned Fred, too. Harry slipped out and shut the door gently behind him.

It wasn't that he didn't mourn Fred, he thought, walking slowly up the corridor towards the back of the train. He did. It was just—different, for him. Held at a distance. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because he knew all the time that Fred wasn't his brother, and it felt kind of—kind of bad of him to cry too much. Or maybe just because he knew Ron needed someone to carry on like things were normal and he wanted to be that someone.

_And he'll never be your brother-in-law, either._

Of course he couldn't, because he was dead, but Harry came to a stop in the middle of the corridor and blinked. Well. That answered one question.

He'd been thinking of trying to rekindle his romance with Ginny, but it never seemed to be the right time. She had Fred to mourn and her family to think of, and Harry would have felt like an idiot for insisting she pay attention to him when all that was going on. Not to mention greedy. He'd survived the war and most of his friends had, too; he could wait to count the rest of his blessings.

But it seemed it was more than that. He might just not be _interested _in a romance with Ginny, and so far, she hadn't made any moves towards him, either. If she did, he'd tell her the truth, that he'd rather be there for her than be _for _her.

Thoughtful, Harry started walking down the corridor again, and then someone slammed into his back and nearly knocked him down. He caught hold of a door handle and spun around, adrenaline rushing through his veins. It had been three months since he last fought Death Eaters, but the rumors of them had flown everywhere over the summer, and he didn't think he'd forgotten how to fight.

Malfoy picked himself up slowly from the floor and glared at Harry, the walls, the doors, the ceiling, and anything else that wasn't the person behind him, who had shoved him.

That person was Gregory Goyle, Harry saw. He blinked slowly. The idea of Goyle turning on Malfoy was so foreign he couldn't take it in at first.

Goyle sneered at him, but it was another voice—a voice Harry would find hard to forget, since the last time he'd heard it it was suggesting he be turned over to Voldemort—who spoke up, behind Goyle's shoulder. "You really should watch where you're going, Draco. How dare you intrude into the personal space of the Hero of the Wizarding World?"

Pansy Parkinson stepped out from behind Goyle, her face flushed and her eyes bright. It was a face Harry had seen her make before when she was teasing one of the Gryffindors girls. But to see her look at _Malfoy _that way…

_I could walk away and leave this. It's probably private Slytherin business, and no one will thank me for interfering. _

Yeah, right, Harry decided with a little internal sigh. It would probably be more _peaceful _to leave things that way, but it wasn't what he was made for. He glanced at Malfoy as if the rest of them didn't exist and said, "You all right?"

Malfoy paused, one hand lying flat on his robe where he'd been dusting himself off. Then he raised his head and stared at Harry.

Harry flushed, suddenly aware how he must look, with his wand half-out and his body poised as if for flight. Then he shrugged it off and shook his head. So what? Lots of people had looked at him over the summer with worse expressions than the one Malfoy was using now. There were the ones who thought he could have finished the war sooner, and there were the ones upset with him for running away from Hogwarts instead of staying to fight the "real war," and there were the ones who wanted some bigger conclusion to the battle with Voldemort or more interviews than he wanted to give or for him just not to be famous at all. It was part of the price for living, and Harry was willing to pay it.

"You look all right," Harry pursued gamely into the silence, aware that Parkinson's smile had faded and she looked as stunned as Malfoy. Or Malfoy didn't look stunned, simply surprised. And contemptuous. Already, Harry regretted the impulse that had made him speak. Private Slytherin affairs, right, of course, it must be, and he should have walked away and left it. But it would probably look even stupider to do that now, and no one thought he should be known for common sense. "No broken nose or black eyes or anything."

"Of course he is," Parkinson said, and crowded around Goyle to stand in the corridor closest of all to Harry. She held her robes aside so that they didn't touch Malfoy, and _he_ arranged to be where she wasn't. "Draco is always all right, no matter what happens." She sneered sideways at him. "We all know what he did."

Harry used his very mildest voice, and tried not to look at the expression on Malfoy's face, which had changed in a way that embarrassed him. "What, chose the right side in the end and decided not to kill for that crazy fucker? That's smart, in my eyes. Don't Slytherins make a point out of following power and finding the winning side?" He let his eyes sweep up and down Parkinson's robes, and didn't bother to try and hide his sneer. "Doesn't look to me as if you make as good a Slytherin as he does."

Malfoy had gone rigid with astonishment, his face white. Parkinson's hands tightened in her robes until Harry thought she would fly at him. Again he shifted his body weight so he was in the right position to strike.

But Parkinson, to his surprise, bit her bottom lip and her top one and slowly shook her head. "What he did this summer," she said. "Not during the war. After the war was over. You ought to ask him about it, Potter."

Goyle spoke, startling Harry. "Don't, Pansy. You know we can't agree."

"It looked like you agree on bullying Malfoy," Harry said. He was trying to listen for other people in the compartment behind Goyle, to know how many he might be facing, and thought he heard some, but it was hard to make out. "Unless someone else pushed him out here."

Goyle had to pause to think about that, but Malfoy didn't. He took a sudden step towards Harry, which made Harry look at him again, because, defending the git or not, he wouldn't let Malfoy attack him. Malfoy's face was white, and he shook his head. There was a bubble of spit on his lips, which made Harry stare. As far as he knew, Malfoy would never show that much emotion normally.

"No," Malfoy whispered. "They're right, Potter. You have to leave me alone?"

"Really." Harry looked back and forth between them. "Then, if you drag it out into the corridor in front of me, you don't have an objection to telling me what it's about, do you? Since you _are _here and all."

Malfoy bit his lips hard enough to leave dents in them, small, bleeding dents that sent red trails careening down his face. Harry blinked. That wasn't the reaction he would have pictured to being asked for an explanation.

He lowered his wand and his voice at the same time, trying to persuade Malfoy that he meant no harm. "Come on, Malfoy. Just let me know. If you want to fight it out with your friends, I'll leave you alone, but you don't have to be. Alone, I mean," he added, because Malfoy's eyes had got clouded with confusion.

"He _wants _to be," Parkinson said, her voice opening new worlds of loathing to Harry. "He thinks he's too good for the likes of us, don't you, Draco? You've always thought that, but this summer was the first time I ever heard you _talk _about it."

Her voice practically exploded at the end, and Harry could see the flying pieces of it hit Malfoy. He bowed his head, but said nothing. There was more blood on his face now, and Harry would have said something, but Goyle was speaking.

"It has nothing to do with that," he said. "It has everything to do with _betrayal. _You could have grabbed Vince and brought him along with you. You could have. You just didn't want to, did you? You always wanted to be alone with precious Potter, you always cared about yourself more than your friends. And here we are."

"He didn't deliberately leave Crabbe behind in the Fiendfyre," Harry pointed out, because it sounded like that was what Goyle was saying, and he didn't like it. "I was there, remember? Crabbe died before we could grab you." He thought about adding that it was Crabbe's fault, since he was the one who had cast the spell to call the Fiendfyre in the first place, but decided it wasn't the best idea.

"He told me so," said Goyle, and his eyes shone like mad little jewels. Harry almost thought he could see the Fiendfyre shining in them again. "He _told _me so, over the summer, while Pansy thought he was telling her that he'd prefer to be alone and never date anyone again, and she hates that because she's been after him since fourth year—"

"Since _birth_," Malfoy said, with a snap in the back of his voice Harry remembered, and felt relieved to hear.

"I was _not!_" Pansy looked as if she would have gone after Malfoy and torn him apart with her nails, except that that wouldn't have been dignified and ladylike. "I only ever wanted to be your friend, and I thought we should stick closer together after the war practically made us social _outcasts, _and you spurned me and told me I wasn't good enough—"

"He never said that—"

Harry stared in fascination. The Slytherins seemed to have forgotten he was there, which they'd never done before. Sure, he'd spied on their private conversations before, the way he'd done in their compartment sixth year and when Malfoy thought he was talking to Crabbe and Goyle but it was actually just him and Ron Polyjuiced, but this was different. They screamed and spat like normal people, not the spiteful caricatures they presented themselves as. He shook his head.

The even stranger thing was that Malfoy was standing back, his arms folded, instead of trying to take the lead like he normally did. The expression on his face was—strange. Harry would have expected anger, or irritation, or boredom if he'd heard this fight more than once, but it was none of those things. The only thing Harry knew for sure was that he'd been shivering like he was cold for a while.

Harry aimed a subtle Warming Charm at him, and Malfoy jerked around and stared at him. Harry shrugged. Then he raised his voice and interrupted the row, which seemed to have descended into a series of screaming complaints about whose mother was uglier and more prone to sleeping around with Slytherin pure-bloods who could have been the other person's real father.

"How can you be social outcasts if you're back at school? I know the Headmistress invited you all back."

It was as though he'd turned a key and made a Muggle toy start moving, or rather, stop moving. Parkinson's face froze up, and Goyle glared at Harry as if he was the one who had started all this in the first place. Then they both turned and marched back into the compartment, slamming the door shut behind them.

Malfoy didn't try to scurry away. He stayed in place, his arms still folded, his uncertain gaze on Harry now. Harry tried to convey with his faint smile that he was happy to listen if Malfoy wanted to talk, but nothing happened. So much time passed that Harry began to wonder why his friends hadn't come looking for him, or Malfoy hadn't started a duel.

Then Malfoy spoke a single word. It was the one Harry was expecting, or he might not have made it out in that small, strained voice.

"Why?"

Harry shrugged. He thought he owed Malfoy the truth. There was the fact that the git had saved him, after all. Even if the git was still a git. Maybe he wasn't, if he hadn't done what his friends said he did. That was the weird thing about the way Parkinson and Goyle argued with each other; both of the things they said could have been true, but they acted as if only one could be.

"Because I owe you," Harry said. "Because it's after the war, and we really _shouldn't _all be arseholes to each other if we can help it." He paused, then added, "Because you looked like you needed help."

That was probably the wrong thing to say even if it was the truth, he decided an instant later. Malfoy's freezing glare could have stopped Crookshanks in mid-leap. He turned away with a sniff and said, "Then go and help some Weasley who needs to get her skirt free from a door, Potter. That's something you might be _good _at."

He marched down the corridor, but Harry knew that way of walking that was only meant to convince people you had somewhere important to go, instead of actually having one. He'd seen it an awful lot at the Burrow this summer, especially when Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were trying to be strong for all the men in their family. Harry jogged after him. Malfoy jerked his head around and tried a glare, but those had never been strong enough to work on Harry.

"You needed help right then," Harry said. "Because someone pushed you into me and they were arguing about you. That's embarrassing. I know."

"As if it's ever happened to you in your life," Malfoy said, this time probably in a voice that could have frozen Crookshanks's paws. "As if you've ever listened to people argue about anything but a chance to get close to you, or touch you, or who's going to get to lick your shoes today."

"You'd be surprised," Harry muttered darkly, thinking of the ways Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would argue about whose turn it was to take him over to Mrs. Figg's or ensure that he did his chores.

"No, I wouldn't. Because the answer is _zero_."

Harry shook his head and came to a stop. Why was he doing this, anyway? He had thought he could finally devote his life to his friends and the dead now, and Malfoy didn't fit either category. Besides, he was stuck in a state of probably permanent ingratitude.

"Fine," he said to the back of Malfoy's head. "Be that way, when you know perfectly well that you could use some help because everyone could. And because it sounds like someone used magic to confuse your friends. Why couldn't you have dropped Parkinson like a wet rag and told Goyle you left Crabbe behind on purpose at the same time? But apparently, you can only do one."

Malfoy froze, staring straight ahead. Harry waited a few seconds, but he didn't turn around, and Harry was getting impatient. He shook his head and started back down towards his friends' compartment. They'd probably finished their mourning over Fred by now and might even be wondering where he was.

"Wait."

Malfoy's voice, behind him, was practically a croak. Harry turned around with his arms folded and leaned against the wall, bracing himself a little as the train shuddered. He wondered how close they were to Hogwarts, and how soon they would have to put their robes on.

"Yeah?" he asked, when Malfoy stood there, his face twitching like he was struggling with a volcano buried under his skin or something. Despite himself, Harry's voice got softer. He knew what someone who needed help looked like, and this was it. It had been several days before Ron could bring himself to admit how much he missed Fred, but he had looked like this all the time.

"I—there's a reason," Malfoy whispered.

Harry nodded, although Malfoy had his head bowed, so the gesture was probably wasted. "Uh-huh. Go on."

"But I can't tell you what it is," Malfoy finished in a miserable rush, and then blinked at Harry as if he thought that would make him march away.

Harry was tempted, in fact. It was really hard to help someone who didn't want to be helped, and Malfoy sounded like that, right now. By the way his face was changing and tightening, he knew it, or at least he was interpreting Harry's hesitation the right way.

"Fine, then," he said, and his voice had a trace of sullenness as he started to turn around again. "Don't listen."

"I want to," Harry said. "It's just, if you know what's going on and can't tell me, or someone used magic to confuse your friends and you can't tell me, then I don't see what good me listening will do. You need to find someone you _can _tell this to. Or you need to find whoever cursed your friends and punish them."

"_Listen_."

Malfoy's voice was enough to stop Harry from both speaking and moving. He blinked a little, mildly impressed by how powerful it was. If Malfoy wanted to, he could probably make a fortune collaring people in Diagon Alley and dragging them into shops to try new products. They wouldn't dare disobey that voice.

_Or is it just me he has that powerful an effect on? He wasn't stopping his friends from bullying him._

Then his thoughts narrowed down to just Malfoy, who was standing with his hair wisping across his collar and his head bowed so Harry could make out about one square unit of his jaw and chin. Malfoy's voice whispered and hissed around him like a snake speaking Parseltongue with a foreign accent. Maybe he sounded that way, too, when he spoke it, Harry thought. Another way they were alike.

"Something did happen this summer," Malfoy whispered. "We tried to stay close together, the lot of us with accused parents. And some of us were accused, too. Some of us stood at the trials."

Harry nodded. He knew. He'd been to more than enough trials, sometimes to offer testimony, sometimes to be a witness, sometimes to be a witness whether the Ministry wanted him to be or not. He knew Kingsley Shacklebolt had been grateful to have him there, but others would probably have been more comfortable if they just could have locked all the Death Eaters up without Harry asking why they were doing that.

"But towards the end of July," Malfoy whispered, "there was one hot night when we were sick of fearing for our lives and just wanted to have fun. We all went out and lit a fire in a field and danced around it and yelled and cried and fucked."

Harry felt himself flush, but luckily Malfoy wasn't looking at him and wouldn't know _everything _from his expression, like that Harry was still a virgin and didn't really want to change that yet. "Go on," he managed to say.

"The night—we were whirling around," Malfoy whispered. "Everyone was dancing. There was—I thought something was different, but I didn't know what.

"Then someone cast a spell. And the next morning, everyone hated me, but for a different reason. I betrayed them, or I betrayed their parents, or I cast a spell on someone, or I bragged about how much better I was going to be after the war than they were because you testified for my mother, or something. I don't know why. I think one of them _did _cast the spell, but if they did, then they confused themselves along with everyone else."

His shoulders shook, once, and then he stood up and glared at Harry. "And if you tell anyone I told you this, I'll kill you," he said. "I just needed a pair of convenient ears, and you were it."

Harry held Malfoy's eyes until he glanced away. "Keep telling yourself that," Harry said quietly.

Malfoy hastily turned and marched down the corridor, as if nothing was more imperative than getting away from him. Harry let him go. He thought Malfoy had probably had all the contact with both Harry and his (former) friends that he could stand for right now.

But yeah, it seemed as if Malfoy could use help. And if Harry could give it and it wasn't something wrong, then he would.

Why?

Because it was after the war, and they were both alive. Things had changed.

_Although maybe I still want to be a hero, _Harry acknowledged to himself ruefully as he made his way back to his friends. _It's just who I want to be a hero for that's changed._


	3. Messages Come by Owl

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Three—Messages Come By Owl_

"It looks brilliant, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded back to Ron's whisper, although he didn't know why they were whispering when everyone else around them seemed to be chattering and shouting at the tops of their lungs. The Great Hall had been restored by a lot of magic, although Harry knew that McGonagall had done most of the work, along with the other professors. The House tables sat proudly in their places as if they had never moved, and the ceiling reflected the cloudy sky outside better than it ever had.

Harry took a deep breath and decided that he'd had enough of contemplating the ceiling and pretending he was interested in it. He turned to eye the Slytherins instead as they filed to the table. There were an awful lot of them who hadn't come back, and he couldn't blame them. If one of their enemies was casting spells on them to make them hate each other, they wouldn't be able to trust anyone outside their House at school, either.

_Or maybe inside it._

His gaze crossed with Malfoy's. Malfoy turned away as if they'd never spoken. Harry shrugged. He was sure Malfoy would deny it if anyone asked him. Well, Harry had expected that. He turned to study the other Slytherins instead.

Parkinson and Goyle had taken seats close to each other, and were whispering intently. Harry couldn't hear them from this distance and with all the other noise, of course, but he thought he couldn't make a mistake about the way their heads were bobbing. Now and then, they cast glances at Malfoy that made Harry have to remind himself he couldn't do everything for everybody. If they were stupid enough to start trouble here in the Hall, then one of the professors would see and interfere.

Zabini sat in one of the empty seats between them and Malfoy, his scowl thick on his face as he stared at Malfoy. The spell must have affected him, too, then, Harry thought. He had never paid that much attention to Zabini before, but as far as he remembered, he hadn't been that open with his emotions.

Millicent Bulstrode was paying more attention to her cat than anyone at the table. She had it in her lap, an enormous black beast bigger than Crookshanks, and was scratching behind its ears as she cooed at it. The cat gave her a long-suffering look that made Harry snort behind his hand, and have to make up a hasty lie about how he'd just seen a Hufflepuff prefect intervene in a fight when Hermione asked. Then the cat curled up and lashed its tail in a circle. Bulstrode looked angry.

Hard to tell whether she was affected by the spell or not right now.

The other tiny group of seventh-year Slytherins consisted of Theodore Nott and—what was her name—Daphne Greengrass, Harry thought. They sat so close together they might be dating, but they also cast looks at Malfoy when they thought he wouldn't notice. He met the majority of them with bleak glances before he turned and faced the line of firsties coming in for the Sorting.

Harry winced_. What must that be like, to have most of your friends hate you? _He knew that he wouldn't have lasted through most of his first years here without Ron and Hermione, never mind the Horcrux hunt. He'd been miserable whenever they rowed. Miserable when he thought there was no way he could help Ron with his grief. Miserable when he realized how much Hermione doubted being able to reverse her parents' Memory Charm.

Probably worse for Malfoy, even if Harry didn't think Malfoy could be as close to the other Slytherins as Harry was to his friends.

The first girl in the line, a gap-toothed, curly-headed kid who Harry thought would probably try to get away with everything because she was cute, was Sorted into Gryffindor. Harry clapped for her, and then leaned around Ron to get a look at the High Table. He hadn't heard anything about who their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was going to be, even when he got his letter from McGonagall.

It seemed to be a tall woman with a pinched face and the ugliest glasses Harry had ever seen, even worse than the first pair Aunt Petunia had got him. She had white hair in a thick braid and peered here and there, as if she wanted to know all the faces of her students before she had her first class. Harry shuddered. She looked like she'd assign lots of homework.

_Well, at least Hermione ought to like her._

Most of the children that year seemed to be either Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs, with only a few Ravenclaws and even fewer Slytherins. Some of the decisions took a long time, too. Harry watched the kids squirming on the stool and wondered how many of them were begging not to be put in Slytherin.

_That's too bad, really. I think some of them could be decent now that the war's over and they don't have to worry about serving Voldemort. _

_ On the other hand, I wouldn't have wanted to be put there._

Harry shook his head. He really couldn't imagine that, trying to be friends with Malfoy and knowing that half the people around him probably wanted to hand him over to their parents. How would he ever have relaxed, or worried about anything mundane like homework, when he had spying eyes on him? It would have been worse even than the Dursleys, where he could at least get away from them in his cupboard.

_I wish they had more Slytherins this year, but I can't regret that I wasn't one of them._

The Sorting finished at last, and McGonagall coughed and rose to her feet. She looked around the room slowly, even after the last mutters had died. Harry watched her and wondered what she was waiting for. He thought he could see sadness in her eyes when they rested on the Slytherin table, but not worse than when she looked at the chair at the Gryffindor one that Colin Creevey should have had.

"A new year begins," she said into the silence, finally. "I am your new Headmistress, and you will find that I am different from Professor Dumbledore." She had to pause and clear her throat, and Harry wondered if the new Gryffindors knew why. "I will endeavor to be fair, but for the moment, I am still coping with my duties as Transfiguration teacher and transition to full Headmistress. If you find me a bit short, I apologize in advance."

Harry had to grin when he thought of some of the detentions that she might dish out, given _that _warning.

"Some rules _haven't _changed," McGonagall said, and Harry thought her eyes could have given Malfoy's cold tones and glares competition. "You will still stay away from the Forbidden Forest, or I will know why." She managed to make that sound more threatening than Dumbledore ever had, Harry thought, impressed. Half the time, Dumbledore's warnings had sounded more like a joke shared between him and the students. "Mr. Filch reminds me that more tricks and pranks and magical devices than ever are off-limits now; the complete list is available in my office. Anyone who attempts to become an Animagus without registering with the Ministry and consulting me will _wish_ they had messed up the spell.

"I must also introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Matilda Klein." McGonagall nodded at the tall woman, who seemed unable to relax her face long enough to smile. "She informs me that she looks forward to remedying the sad lack of a proper education that most of our students received, not only last year, but the years before that." She paused, and a shadow seemed to sit on her face. "She is also the new Acting Head of Gryffindor House."

There was a burst of noise from their table, but most people shut up quickly. Glancing around, Harry saw both Ron and Hermione glaring at some of the louder ones, and grinned. They were prefects, and they made good ones. They'd be reminding anyone who still complained later that McGonagall had more than enough to do without also watching over Gryffindor.

"And now," McGonagall said, and clapped her hands so that food appeared on the plates, "I think that more than one person has been waiting impatiently for me to get on with the speech so that they might eat." Her gaze crossed over to Harry, and he hunched his shoulders a little, then smiled at her. The shadow had left her face. "Let us eat well, in remembrance of the old year, and celebration of the new."

That got her a cheer, and Harry thought her face was a bit pink as she sat down. He thought about nodding encouragingly to her, but he didn't think she would like that. She was still a professor, and he was only a student.

_I've got one more year for that to be true._

"A new Head of House," Ron said under his breath, and even though he had made other people shut up about it, there was no hiding the complaint in his voice as he helped himself to a heap of buttered scones. "Wonder what that means for _us_? Was she even a Gryffindor? She looks too sour to be one."

"I've heard of her," Hermione said, as though that should settle everything, and picked up a steaming spoonful of small carrots. "She publishes a lot in the major Defense journals, and she has a very good reputation."

"Yeah, but was she really a Gryffindor?" Ron sent a dubious glance up at Klein once more. Harry looked with him, and wondered how she was managing to eat when she never seemed to not purse her lips. "That's what I want to know. She's not going to be a good Head if she expects us all to be like Ravenclaws. Or _Slytherins_." He shuddered.

"I'm sure that McGonagall warned her about us," Hermione said, and picked up some peas in turn. Harry snorted behind his hand. She hadn't eaten half that healthy this summer while she was at the Burrow. He wondered if she was trying to make a good impression on someone, or if she had decided that summer was a holiday and being back at school wasn't. "That we don't study, that we're foolishly reckless, that _some _of us think we saved the world and are going to be strutting around with our noses in the air—"

"Harry doesn't act like that," complained Ron through a mouthful of cold chicken before he caught on to what Hermione was talking about and yanked on her robe. She laughed at him, and Harry leaned a little away from them so that the resulting food fight didn't get his hair stuffed with bits of half-chewed food.

He looked at Klein as he ate. She appeared to commune with her plate, and sometimes one of the other professors if they asked her a question. She was so tight and rigid that he had to agree with Ron; she didn't look like she would be a good Head of House for people who had just lived through a war and who almost always broke the rules.

Oh, well. She might be like McGonagall, and stern but fair. He'd just have to wait to find out.

He was almost finished eating, and eyeing the treacle tart for a second helping, when a flight of owls appeared overhead. Harry ignored them. He knew they'd be carrying extra owl orders and packages and anxious greetings, mostly for the first-years, and he'd done all his shopping before he left Diagon Alley.

But one of the owls landed in front of him and hooted insistently. Harry stared at it as he took the message. It wasn't distinctive, though, just a silver-grey post-owl, like most of the rest. Ruder than some of the rest, though, if the way it snatched at his tart was any indication. Harry fed it a bit of ham instead and opened the letter, which was a simple envelope without the kind of fancy writing that lots of people tried to catch his attention when they sent him a letter.

Hermione broke off the fight with Ron to say in alarm, "Harry! You didn't cast the charms that check for hexes and Dark magic!"

"I already did," Harry said dryly, and pulled out the single sheet of parchment inside. "I'm so good at them now that I can do them nonverbally." He did cast another one then, just to be safe and to demonstrate.

Hermione looked stricken. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," Harry murmured, realizing that the handwriting on the letter was familiar, and not in a good way.

_Potter:_

_ I would not write to you, but there is no one else I can turn to. I have no other chance of a fair hearing in the trial-thick world that we have now._

_ You know me. You know that I helped you during the war. You know that I was never given a proper funeral, as my body was not found._

_ I will be waiting for you near the place of my death, to discuss what arrangements we might make for hiding me._

There was no name, but there didn't need to be, not with that combination of clues and that kind of handwriting—it had to be carefully changed and disguised, of course, but whoever had sent this _joke _of a letter would have counted on him recognizing it. Harry sat staring at the letter for a long time before disgust welled up in him and he crumpled the letter and threw it aside.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked, bending down and picking it back up. "I haven't seen you so disgusted since Romilda Vane sent you a marriage proposal."

"It doesn't say anything," Harry said roughly, but of course that didn't prevent her from opening it up and reading it. She understood at once why it had made him so angry—she recognized the handwriting, or the handwriting it was meant to look like, too—and her lips trembled as she folded up the letter and stuck it in her pocket. Ron was looking back and forth between them, but Hermione caught his eye and shook her head, mouthing that she would tell him later. Ron accepted that with a good grace and went back to his meal.

"You still shouldn't leave it lying around," she murmured. "Not when it has your name on it. Someone could find it, and recognize—what they're trying to do, and not know that it's a joke."

"It's a bloody bad joke," Harry hissed, leaning close to her, ignoring the way that eyes fastened eagerly on him. Of course people were always going to think that there was something going on when he talked urgently to one of his friends, and they would always be uncommonly interested in any letter he received, since he was Harry Bloody Potter. He couldn't make them stop staring, so his best step was to pretend that he didn't notice. "Snape's _dead_."

Hermione sighed. "I know, but it's the kind of joke a few people might play just to upset you."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know why or how. No one but us knows what Snape gave me before he died." He wouldn't speak of the memories of his mother and Snape as children aloud where anyone else could hear him, even though it was highly likely that no one who listened would know what he was talking about. "No one but you or Ron could think that I would be upset by something like this."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, and her tone of calm good sense made Harry think about it, as always. "You were the one who spoke up to the papers when they asked you about Snape and said that he'd always been a hero and was really a spy for Dumbledore. You were the one who refused your chance to blame him when they wanted you to. Someone could think that they'd upset you with a trick like this, even if they had no idea why Snape did what he did."

Harry took a breath and nodded. That much was true, and he was getting paranoid over the need to protect Snape's privacy. He knew that neither of his friends would betray him, and he hadn't put the memories in a Pensieve or mentioned them since he first told Ron and Hermione. There was no way for someone else to find out.

"It still makes me angry," he said, and scowled at Hermoine's pocket that held the letter. "That they think they can make me believe he's still alive."

"I know," Hermione said, patted his hand, and, glancing over, added in quite a different voice, "Ron, the goal is not to _choke _yourself with your food!"

Harry dutifully chuckled and went back to finishing up his own dessert. With an effort, he kept himself from looking around the Great Hall for a pair of eyes that might be watching him with satisfaction instead of curiosity.

_It's not real. It can't be real. I saw him die myself, and although someone might have stolen his body, that doesn't mean he got up and walked out of there. _

_ And even if he was carrying a bezoar or something that means he could have survived the poison, I don't know any potion that would have allowed someone to survive having his throat bloody torn out by a giant snake._

* * *

Harry woke near three, or at least his whispered _Tempus _Charm told him that was the time, dazed and foggy-headed in that way he always was when he woke up in the middle of the night. He shook his head and glanced around, wondering if one of the other boys had planted a Wheeze under his bed. Gred and Forge—well, just Gred now—had a few that would disrupt the soundest sleep, with a subtle noise that was hard to trace.

But there was no noise he could hear, even when he concentrated. Instead, there was an owl that landed on his bed with a wriggle and a thump of its wings, and began staring at him with its head thrust aggressively forwards and its talon scraping the bedcovers. Harry scratched his back, muttered about stupid owls and their owners long enough to encourage the bird to fly away—at least, that should have encouraged it, but it just sat there and stared at him—and finally cast _Lumos. _His curtains were drawn, although swaying from the owl's flight past them, and he shouldn't wake anyone else up.

The letter had no name on it, and no hexes or nasty charms on it when he tested it. Harry hesitated in front of it for a long time nonetheless. He didn't know that it would contain anything different from the joke letter he had read at the feast.

Finally, he sighed and slid a finger under the flap of the envelope to open it. The owl bobbed its head up and down in a way that Harry thought was meant to say _finally!_ Harry rolled his eyes at it and looked down at the letter.

There were splashes and blobs of ink this time, as though the person writing it had dashed them across the paper in his extreme anger. But it was still the same handwriting—or disguised handwriting—that had been on the last letter.

_Potter:_

_ So you think my letter a joke? So you think that I would appeal to you for any other reason than because I have _no choice? _I have my eyes on you as necessary. I am without many options to save myself, but I can cast the spells for such a small undertaking as this._

_ I am not joking. I would not have chosen you, except I know you will do the right thing no matter what the reaction of others. I am relying on that extreme good-will and self-righteousness to save me now._

_ If you need proof, remember what you saw in my Pensieve during your fifth year—the memory of your mother rejecting me because of the name I called her. The same name that Draco Malfoy called your little friend one year._

_ Come to the place of my death. And hurry up._

Harry sat there for some time, staring at the lack of a signature. Then again, if this was from the person it pretended to be, he could hardly expect one.

He realized, as if distantly, that his hands were shaking. He closed his eyes and shook his head, sitting there until the shaking calmed.

He had done so well, he thought. He'd had a private funeral for Snape and everything. He'd put the man away where he belonged, in the shadows of the past. Only now did he realize how easy that had been, how much of it had depended on Snape not being alive. Harry didn't think he would deal well with the man if he was.

_If _he was. The letters could still be tricks.

On the other hand, the only other people Harry had so much as hinted about the Pensieve memory to were either dead or people Harry trusted absolutely. He couldn't imagine Hermione talking about it, and while Ron might have mentioned something in front of his brothers or sister, they were all too somber at the moment to find something like this funny. Especially when joking about someone coming back to life was…too close to some of their fantasies.

_I reckon it could be George trying to gain back the life he needs to live again. On the other hand, I really don't think so, and if it was, I'd go along with it cheerfully, because anything that might bring him back should be encouraged._

Harry sighed and turned to the bird. "It looks like we're going," he muttered, and started to drag his Invisibility Cloak over his head. He dreaded to think about what would happen if the sour-faced Professor Klein caught him while patrolling the corridors. "Whether or not Snape is really out there."

The owl wheeled out silently between the curtains, in a way that made Harry suspect what kinds of spells Snape might be using to "keep an eye" on him.

_If that's really Snape._

Harry shook his head, sighed, and began to move. Luckily, he'd got plenty of practice at sneaking around during the war, and even sometimes this summer at the Burrow, when he wanted to talk to his friends late at night or snatch a moment for himself. Soon he was out the entrance hall and moving across the dark grounds.

For a moment, he wondered if he'd been stupid not to wake Ron up and tell him what he was going on. But he'd left the letter on the bed, and Hermione had the first one. If something happened to him, his friends would know where to look.

He realized that his hands were shaking again when he stood in front of the Whomping Willow. Harry hesitated, bit his lip, and then shook his head and conjured a small ball. Bending low, he tossed it at the knot in the trunk, and watched the branches freeze. He thought he heard the wings of the owl whisper by overhead, but when he looked up, he could see nothing in the darkness.

_Here goes everything._

Trying not to remember that the last time he'd come through this tunnel, it was to witness Snape's death, not his resurrection, he dropped to his knees and started crawling.


	4. Tunnels and Tunnel Vision

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Four—Tunnels and Tunnel Vision_

By the time that he actually got to the Shrieking Shack, Harry's eyes were watering desperately, and his nose ached from sneezing. He had known the place was dusty before, but right now, he wondered how in the world he and his friends could have got close enough before to see Voldemort without alerting him.

There was the entrance to the Shack ahead. Harry paused and steadied himself against the dizzying flow of memories, both of Snape's death and of the time when they had confronted Wormtail here. He would have said that all the adults in the room that day were dead now.

Except that he had the letters. And if it wasn't Snape, then someone might be here who could tell him what had happened to Snape, at least. The temptation was irresistible.

_I hope Hermione and Ron understand that if they wake up and find me gone._

His hand shook, so he waited until it could be steady before he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The inside of the Shack looked scraped clean. There was no dust anywhere _here _that Harry could see. Instead, he stood on the edge of a long circle, drawn with what looked like blue chalk, and in the center burned a brazier. Harry frowned. He didn't know what the brazier was burning, but he could feel it tickling the back of his throat. Suddenly he wondered if it had really been dust that made him sneeze in the tunnel after all.

The only piece of furniture in the whole room was a small pallet on the floor against the far wall. And sitting on it was…

_Snape. Or someone who's really good with glamours or Polyjuice._

It did look like Snape, at least a Snape who'd been dragged face-downward through the Forbidden Forest for weeks. His hair wasn't just greasy, but dirty and twined with twigs. Leaves clung to the side of his throat where Harry had seen Nagini bite him. When Snape turned and stared at him, Harry saw that his hands shook, and his skin had a layer of dirt caked in that had practically changed the color.

"Uh," Harry said. He thought about coming closer, but for one thing, there was the circle on the floor that covered the whole way he'd need to take to get to Snape, and for another, it was _Snape. _"Hi."

Snape's lips curled up, and he shook his head. "That was the only thing you could say to me when we first met," he murmured. "Of course it would be. I should have known better than to depend on someone like you."

"Yeah, you should have," Harry agreed, his temper rising. He had _known _this would be different. Snape dead was one thing, Snape being alive was another, and Harry had known that he wouldn't handle it well. He could keep from launching into a tirade, but if Snape wanted his help and yet approached it like this, then Harry was sure he would handle anything else Snape wanted him to do badly. "Unless you think you can actually depend on me to work for you, which you can. But if what you want is some Slytherin who obeys all your directions because he already knows what they are, then you can fuck off."

The words seemed to hang in the thick, strangely-perfumed air between them. Snape blinked once or twice. The smoke wavered across Harry's vision. The circle on the floor shimmered. Harry remained near the door, and wondered why he'd never said that before. It had felt good.

_Detentions and lines, that's why._

"Well," Snape said at last, and leaned back on his pallet, supporting his weight against the wall. "And I had thought you changed after the war."

"The old Harry would have mouthed off to you differently," Harry said shortly. "Where you couldn't hear it. So, yeah, I am."

Again, silence. Harry thought about turning around and going back to bed. Well, he was going to if Snape didn't stop being stupid.

"This is what I want from you," Snape said at last. His voice was carefully neutral. Harry wondered if it was simply that he no longer knew what to expect from Harry, and so had to make sure that he was offering words that couldn't be misinterpreted. Of course, knowing Snape, it was probably something much more complicated than that, something Harry would never think of before Snape decided he was stupid. "As you may have noticed, my wound is not completely healed."

"You're not bleeding all over the floor," Harry said. "So it's more healed than I expected."

Snape sneered in that way that seemed habitual and turned his head to the side again. This time, Harry could see better—although he still wished the bloody brazier and its bloody smoke were out of the way—and he realized the leaves weren't just clinging to Snape's neck. They'd been pressed there, and around them was another sticky blue dusting, outlining the leaves the way the chalk outlined the circle of the Shrieking Shack. If Harry concentrated closely enough, then he thought he could see drips and dabs of blood around the blue outline.

"Nagini's bite could be counteracted," Snape said. "It could not be healed. My body was sent to a safe place, but I could not stay there. I had to return to the scene of my death and then take precautions to ensure that I did _not _die."

"Who sent it?" Harry asked, because he was sure no ordinary person would be proof against the way McGonagall's eyes had looked when she heard that they couldn't find Snape's body.

Snape looked smug, and didn't answer.

"Look," Harry said, trying to hold onto his temper. It was hard. His temper felt like a dog that had almost chewed its way through its leash, and Snape's twitching hand, as if he would reach for his wand, didn't help. "If you want me to get you a fair trial, you've at least got to explain why you didn't come forward at first and ask McGonagall when all that sentiment was swirling around after the war. It would have been _easy _to get you one then. People were willing to believe that you did everything you could to help the students while you were Headmaster."

"I do not want a fair trial," Snape said, and leaned forwards far enough to make the curtain of hair fell across his eyes again. Harry shook his head. If Snape was trying to convince him that he was sincere and really wanted to be helped, then he was doing a poor job of it. "I want no trial at all."

Harry blinked. Snape just sat there, though, staring at him, and stubbornly not making sense. Harry licked his lips and tried to think of something that would make it make sense. Finally he said, "Then why contact me? You're the only one who can answer that question, and I thought you wanted someone to stand up for you."

"How pitifully you put things, Potter," Snape drawled, shaking his head. "If you thought for a _moment _that I would depend on you to that extent, then I could wish Nagini's fangs had sunk deeper, so I would not have to endure listening to you."

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head back and forth. The smoke drifting from the brazier was making his lungs hurt. He wanted to get out of there and breathe the clear air that he'd breathed coming in from the Quidditch pitch, which now seemed like a marvel of peace and quiet, although nothing special while he was crossing it.

"Then tell me what you need," he said finally. "Other than me to go away and stop bothering you."

Silence again. Harry openly rolled his eyes. He didn't care if this was "disturbing" Snape. He was the one who had called Harry here and insisted on talking to him, so the least he could do was _talk_.

Finally, Snape snarled and began to speak as though someone was inside his throat pushing the words out. "I do not wish to have a trial. I do not wish to give the wizarding world the chance to stare at me and whisper over me and prove to their own satisfaction that I am the coward they always thought I was."

Harry blinked at him. The only thing he could think of at that moment was the way Snape had reacted when Harry called him a coward on the night he killed Dumbledore.

"So," Snape said. "I rely on you to find me a way back into the wizarding world without the necessity of a trial."

"I can't think of one," Harry said promptly. "The end."

Snape gave him a look that made it seem as if only boredom kept him from reaching out and crushing Harry's throat. Harry promptly fell into a defensive crouch, adopted before he thought about it. Snape shook his head and glanced away again. One hand rose to the leaves crusted on his throat in a way that suggested he made the gesture a lot.

"I rely on your intelligence," Snape said, and interrupted himself with a dry laugh, "to figure it out. I will trust no one else."

"But you should," Harry pointed out, and wondered why he had to be the adult in this situation. And with Malfoy, too. It seemed unfair to him that he had to be the one who pointed out the obvious and suggested alternatives to two self-obsessed Slytherins. They weren't his friends, who could use the help and were adults besides.

_Well. That's the way it is. I was the one who chose to talk to Malfoy and come out here. I could have stayed in my nice warm bed._

_ Once I found out some way to get rid of the bloody owl._

"Why should I?" Snape shook his head. "Looking for company in the public spotlight of gawking, Potter?"

"Because there are people who would be overjoyed to see you," Harry said firmly. "McGonagall mourned you when she thought you were dead. The Slytherins would like to see you back. There are people like Ron and Hermione who know the real story and would support you. Even the papers have some of the real story now, because I told it to them." He thought about the owls. Snape might have some news from the outside world if he could see through their eyes, but not a lot. "Did you know that? The world could welcome you back."

"But there would be a trial," Snape whispered. "A trial for killing Dumbledore. For being Headmaster of the school under the Dark Lord's rule."

"Hey," Harry said. "You know what? You don't know that there'll be a trial. Come out of hiding. And I promise, Voldemort is dead. He won't come haunt you if you say his name."

The glance Snape gave him physically hurt, that time. Harry winced despite himself, and saw Snape's lips thin in what looked like satisfaction. _Bastard. _Harry glared at him, and Snape started to respond, but then he began to cough.

The coughs were deep, tearing sounds, and worked their way out of Snape's throat destructively, ripping what sounded like his throat walls into shreds. When Snape recovered from them, he leaned more heavily against the wall than ever, and closed his eyes as though his sight was blurring.

Harry hesitated. He didn't want to ask, he didn't want to ask, he shouldn't have to ask…

"Are you all right?" But damn it, of course he was going to ask. Maybe it wasn't just his righteousness that had made Snape ask him for help.

"A legacy of the bite," Snape said, and opened his eyes. "In any case. Emerging from hiding is impossible right now. I need the ritual circle that I have set up to keep myself alive, until and unless you can bring me Potions ingredients, and the ritual is Dark magic. If the Ministry agreed to spare me from trial for my crimes during the war, they would still try me for using it."

"Then you could just not _tell _them you used it," Harry suggested. That made the most sense to him, but he was sure Snape was going to tell him he was stupid for some reason he hadn't thought of in a moment. That seemed to be what Snape lived to do. "Get out of here and go to the Ministry, and they don't have to know about the Dark Arts."

Snape bared his teeth at Harry. "Someone would find out. People who live to try and destroy me are alive still."

Harry blinked a little. "Wow," he said at last. "What is it _like _to be that paranoid? Does it hurt?"

Snape began to heave himself to his feet. His limbs shook, and he looked as if he was in pain, so much so that Harry winced and began to wish he had never said anything. But Snape had to sink down again and bow his head as though he was weathering a winter wind, instead of standing and striding at Harry across the circle. His breaths were weak and gasping, and Harry felt his stomach twist as he looked at him.

He didn't like to see anyone in pain. That seemed to include Snape, as arrogant and stupid as Snape was, as much as Harry still disliked him.

_Not hated him. I don't think I can hate him now that I know what he felt about my mum._

"You do not understand, and will not," Snape said at last. "Someone would find out. Someone would always be working towards my downfall, if only because someone would believe I did not deserve to survive for killing—Albus." The choke of pain when he said that name made Harry wince again, because…well, because. "I will not have that. I will have safety, and freedom, and peace."

"What Potions ingredients do you need to stop using this circle, then?" Harry asked reluctantly. He coughed as the smoke burned the back of his throat again. "Is the fire part of it?"

Snape didn't bother to sneer this time; the twitch of his shoulders did the same thing. "Of course, imbecile. Do you think I would willingly light a fire in an enclosed space otherwise?"

"There's this thing some people do," Harry muttered, low enough that he thought Snape probably couldn't hear, "called _cooking_, which lights fire in enclosed spaces all the time."

"Since the snake bit me, I have not eaten," Snape said.

Harry did some more gaping, and didn't quite manage to close his mouth before Snape looked up. Snape's satisfaction in that showed in the way his eyes narrowed. Harry glared at him and struck out, more or less at random. "Then—how have you been living? How can you have stayed alive this long, even if the magic is helping you?"

For a moment, he decided Snape hadn't heard the question, or at least might not want to explain. The silence lingered between them, and from the way Snape cocked his head and touched the leaves binding his throat, Harry thought he might be sorry that he'd started the subject in the first place.

Then Snape said, "Surviving the snake meant that I had to call upon resources that I did not know I would use. You saw me die. I did. I also returned, as you did." Harry nodded, reassured that Snape knew at least that much. Or maybe he just knew that much because of what he knew about Dumbledore's plans for Harry. Harry must have got past them somehow if he was standing here. "Since then, I have not eaten and not left this place because I am not human. Not any longer. I will not be unless I can brew a potion it that I read of in—a book you do not need the title of, long ago. But I cannot leave the place that keeps me alive unless I can contrive some way of moving the circle and the brazier along with me. So far, that has escaped even my cleverness."

_What cleverness?_ Harry wanted to ask, but he knew it was kind of useless to ask. He settled for nodding and hunkering down in front of Snape, who drew back from him even though Harry was on the other side of the circle.

_It must really have galled him to ask for my help._

Not that it really reconciled Harry to helping Snape, but once again, there appeared to be no one else.

"Fine," he said. "Then you need the ingredients. I'll get them for you."

Snape laughed harshly. It ended in a crackling sound that Harry hated on hearing. It sounded like some of the wounds he'd heard Healers working on after the Battle of Hogwarts. "I had planned to come up with some method to fetch them on my own, while you came up with a method to free me from suspicion," he murmured. "I would not trust you to see the kinds of plants I need. You are blind in a way that has nothing to do with the strength—or otherwise—of your sight."

Harry hissed at him. "You've had three months—closer to four. You haven't managed to come up with a way to change anything yet. How do you think you can act on your own when you've just admitted that you probably can't?"

Silence. This time it was different, though. Snape stared at him as though Harry had changed himself into someone else, maybe Malfoy or Neville. Harry folded his arms and stared back. The last scraps of tiredness from waking up in the middle of the night were gone. The only thing he could think of was how blindingly _stupid _Snape was. Treating Harry like this was still the war and Harry had learned nothing.

Maybe he hadn't, by Snape's standards. But Snape was the one who had chosen to call on him, and he wouldn't have done that if he thought Harry was _utterly _stupid. He could have found one of the Slytherins who would help him better with the ingredients and be more sympathetic to his situation.

Well, and there was another reason. Harry blinked as he thought about it.

"You don't trust them," he said quietly, peering at Snape, wondering if he was going to say something else. Snape only sat there, looking at Harry as if he didn't know what he was talking about. Well, maybe he didn't. Harry would continue until he got a reaction. "You don't trust Malfoy and all the rest of the Slytherins who might be good at Potions and be expected to feel some loyalty to you as their Head of House. You think they might betray you for a reward, or they're too afraid for their personal safety to help you. You _need_ a Gryffindor, because there's at least the chance that I'm not going to betray you for my own personal gain."

Snape's hands ground down, twisting in his robes and on his throat. Then he said, "You still do not understand the Slytherin character, Potter."

"Maybe not," Harry said cheerfully. "But I think I'm closer to understanding it than I was ten minutes ago. Now. Are you going to let me help you with the ingredients, or will you just sit here in the house and try to figure out what you can do without me?" He paused, then added, "Given how long it took you to ask for help, I think you've already reached the limit of what you can do by yourself."

Snape stirred and gave Harry a haggard look. Harry felt his smile falter. The silence stretched between them.

"Damn you," Snape whispered, with a precise emphasis that really sounded to Harry like Snape wanted to damn him to hell, rather than just show he was frustrated. "Damn you, and curse you again for being my only hope."

Harry shrugged. Then he said, "Tell me what ingredients you need. And do you require any other potions? Food? That kind of thing?"

Snape's hands twisted as if he wanted to strangle Harry. "You are still going to do it."

It wasn't a question, or phrased that way, but Harry recognized it as one. He shrugged again and rubbed the back of his neck. "After the war, I wanted to concentrate on helping my friends and mourning the dead," he said. "I should have known that that vow wouldn't last long. Between you and Malfoy—"

"Is Draco in danger?"

Harry looked up, startled. Snape's voice had changed completely, and his face looked human even in the weird light of the brazier as he bent towards Harry.

Of all things, Harry felt a little stir of envy. _I wish there was someone who would think about me that way. Maybe this is what it was like to have parents._

The thought was bizarre, but it wouldn't go away, so Harry concentrated on Snape to avoid thinking about it. "I don't know. Someone cast a spell that made all his friends hate him on a night when they were celebrating, but they all disagree about what they hate him for, and they act as if there's only one thing that could have happened. He says that he doesn't know what happened."

Snape closed his eyes. Harry watched muscles moving in his face and reckoned he was seeing Snape in the process of deep thought. Sometimes Snape's hand moved back and forth across his knee, then stopped.

"I will require two things of you, then," he said, voice deep and distant. "For you to help Draco, and for you to fetch the Potions ingredients."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I already planned to do both."

That earned him another look. Then Snape said, with his voice so distant it sounded like the flap of an owl's wing, "Why?"

"Look, you don't get to have it both ways," Harry said, irritated. "One minute you think I should help you just because you're special and I'm only a stupid Gryffindor, and the next minute you're suspicious that I offered. Do you have to pay me or not? I really think we'll get along better if you decide on this now."

Snape sat as though someone had flicked a hand at him and turned him to stone. Then his lips pulled up past his teeth, and he gave Harry a small, mocking bow of his head.

"Very well. You are a Gryffindor, and that is why you help. I will endeavor not to _distrust _you again." He paused and added, more talking to himself than Harry, "This will be a most interesting partnership."

_Yeah, no fucking kidding, _Harry thought when he got back to his bed in the Gryffindor Tower with the list of ingredients that Snape wanted him to fetch. His mind was still bouncing around wildly, and he didn't know if he would feel at all alert for the first day of classes tomorrow. He lay there staring at the curtains on either side of his bed and wondering how he got into these messes.

_Because you want to. You chose to follow Malfoy, and you chose to pay heed to Snape's message. At least this time you don't have anyone pressing you to do it because that would mean you can defeat Voldemort._

_ And if you have free will, you can do anything._

So, when Harry finally did fall asleep, he was smiling.


	5. All These Classes

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Five—All These Classes_

"I am Professor Klein. Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, the NEWT class."

Harry could think of other professors he'd had, where that announcement would be the cue for an outbreak of general merriment. But when Klein said it, and then folded her hands like that and stared at them, most of the people in the room sat silent and still, staring back at her.

She was worth staring at, Harry had to admit. Whereas she'd worn stern and sober robes last night at the feast, today she wore brilliant purple robes with a silver fur collar and cuffs that could have rivaled some of Dumbledore's. Hermione had blinked when she stepped in, and Harry could see her mentally revising some of her conclusions about what kind of professor an award-winning researcher of Defense might be.

Klein also sat on her desk, legs drawn up beneath her, and frowned at them all in a way that suggested it was the only natural method of sitting. No one had ventured to enlighten her. Even Ron, who had muttered about her last night, sat down quietly and took out his ink and parchment.

"You may have noticed that you had no book for this class on your owled list," Klein said. Her voice was quiet enough Harry had to spend a lot of time listening, or he'd miss words. "I prefer to teach by hands-on experience."

_The opposite of Umbridge, _Harry thought. He felt a tiny bit of hope that the class wouldn't be all stuff he already knew or spells so far advanced he couldn't hope to catch up, which was what Klein looked as if she'd _like _to teach.

Klein's gaze fell on him, and paused. "Mr. Potter," she said. "Why are you in the Defense class?"

Harry started to snap in reply, and then shook his head. He was trying to overcome the defensiveness that made him assume the worst when someone asked him a question like that. "Because I still need it, Professor," he said. "I've fought in a war, but that's not the same as getting instruction in spells."

Klein snorted. "I never doubted you needed it," she said. "I meant, what do you hope to learn from this? Why do you need it?"

"I want to be an Auror," Harry said. _This week. _He kept thinking about his future, and sometimes he wanted one thing and sometimes another, but it never stayed the same. The visions would slide and change, and he would see himself as an Auror, and then as someone who played the games that he needed to play but kept the secret core of himself sealed away, and then as a Quidditch player. In truth, he didn't know what he wanted to do right now.

Klein nodded and let her legs fall so that her feet dangled down towards the floor. "I thought so. And do you think you will learn only things that are useful to you as an Auror?"

"I hope not," Harry said.

"Why not?"

Hermione was leaning towards him in concern, Harry saw from the corner of his eye, as though she thought he might explode into angry confetti over having to deal with questions like this. Harry gave her a mini-shrug. He was used to professors singling him out, and so far, at least Klein hadn't made any speeches about celebrity or how he was a liar about Voldemort. "Because I want to do more than that," he said. "And there might be spells that would be useful to saving my life later even if I don't become an Auror."

Klein raised her eyebrows and pulled her legs up again to tuck them back into their neat cross. "You expect to fight for your life if you don't become an Auror?"

"I don't think the Death Eaters will leave me much choice." Harry was the one trying to hold her eyes this time, but Klein didn't seem to consider that as her mind revolved carefully through the various thoughts he had presented her with. Then she nodded.

And then she switched her focus to Ron. "Why are you in this class, Mr. Weasley?"

Harry smiled and leaned back in his chair. It seemed that it was part of Klein's teaching style to pick on everyone the first day and demand they think deeply about things they might consider as simple parts of their lives. That was fine with him. He would get the special treatment sometimes, but it bothered him less if everyone shared it.

* * *

"Mr. Potter! _There's _my favorite student!"

Harry didn't have to see the violent twitch that ran through Malfoy to feel ill at Slughorn's effusive praise. He would have gone up and had a quiet word with the man if he thought it would do any good, but admitting that he'd cheated two years past wouldn't be a good idea, either. He settled for smiling and shrugging.

Slughorn went on chattering about him as though everyone else in the NEWT class didn't know perfectly well who Harry was and how well he had done in their sixth year. By the end of the speech, Hermione was grinding her teeth and glaring at him, and Malfoy's face looked like a mask. Harry tried to mouth an apology to Hermione when Slughorn turned to gesture the new instructions for the Draught of Living Death—"such an easy potion to brew, since we did it last year!"—onto the board, but she kept her head turned away. Harry sighed.

_Well. All good and bad deeds get punished. Reckoned the book would come back to haunt me, but never like this._

"Partners some other day," Slughorn announced. "Work alone today. Show me what you can do with those talents!" He shot Harry a gleaming smile, and Harry resisted, manfully, the temptation to use a Blasting Curse on those white, white teeth.

Harry studied the instructions, and sighed. It was _marginally _possible that he would work better, now, without Snape looming over him and with room to think about what he was doing. Marginally. He stepped back towards the supply cupboard to fetch what he needed.

Most of the rest of the class didn't follow him; it seemed they wanted to study the instructions first. Harry didn't blame them. The only reason he wasn't panicking was that he thought he'd probably do badly, and he might as well study the recipe with the ingredients close to hand.

One person did follow him, but Harry didn't think anything of it until a hand reached out and caught his elbow, tugging him towards a body. Harry promptly dropped to one knee and bowed his head so that any spell aimed at it would go over, then twitched back and slammed his elbow into the other person's ribs.

The person _whoofed _and staggered. Harry jumped back up and turned around, and Malfoy glared at him.

"Oh," Harry said. He looked at the bruise on Malfoy's elbow where he'd clamped his wrist down, and then at the way he looked as if he wanted to trip over his feet, and shrugged. "Oops?" he offered.

"You could have killed me." Malfoy's voice was injured and fragile.

"_That's _a bit much," Harry said, and didn't really care if Malfoy saw him rolling his eyes. "No, I couldn't have. But the next time you want to speak with me, say my name, instead of grabbing me. Anyone could grab me and try to kill me, but that sweet voice of yours is peculiarly your own."

"Keep it down," Malfoy said, and shot a glance over his shoulder into the classroom. Harry shook his head. He must really be afraid of the Slytherins, to think they would try something here with not only Harry but Slughorn watching. "I can't be seen talking to you."

"So what did you want to talk to me about in the first place, then?" Harry didn't see the sense of Malfoy following him into the supply cupboard if he only whined about what happened when he did.

Malfoy lifted his wand and muttered a charm Harry had seen Hermione use to protect a few of their campsites. It would give everyone who came near better things to do than go in the supply cupboard. It would only work for a few minutes, since it had to fool the awareness of so many people at once, and Hermione had given up using it when she found how often she had to renew it. Harry hoped their conversation would be short enough that Malfoy wouldn't have to renew it. This confrontation had reminded him about the reasons he had for disliking the git.

Malfoy turned back to him, and his eyes glowed like flames in the relative dimness of the cupboard. "You have to help me."

Harry blinked. "Right. With what?"

"That _spell_, you idiot." Malfoy took a step forwards that snapped his leg out like a whip, and then stopped. "I could deal with it when it was only verbal assaults. But someone put scorpions in my bed last night, and didn't leave a trace of a magical signature doing it. I'm clever and skilled, but I can only do so much. Sooner or later I'll miss something, and whoever wants me dead is going to have it."

Harry nodded. "Fine. Then give me all the details you have about the night the spell was cast. The day and the time and the weather and the season might have something to do with how strong it is. So could the stars that day."

Malfoy blinked and stared at him. "That's smarter than I expected you to be," he said.

"Why would you ask help from someone stupid?" Harry demanded. "That would make _you_ stupid. Anyway, details. The exact date?"

"It was the middle of the trials," Malfoy said, his forehead wrinkling with what looked like the effort of remembrance. Harry studied his face. There were a lot of lines in it Harry had never seen before the war, and he doubted most of them came from something as simple as concentration. "In June? It had to be."

Harry waited, then snapped his fingers. "In the middle of June could mean any time. What date? Before or after Midsummer?"

"I'd—I'd have to think about it!" Malfoy shoved his hand through his hair and glared at Harry. Harry approved, and thought he should do it more often. It made him look more human, instead of a polished statue who sometimes had a strand or two sticking loose. "Anyway," Malfoy went on, recovering his breath quickly, "it can't matter that much."

"Yes, it does," Harry said, rolling his eyes again. "It matters for all the reasons I told you—which you just admitted—and also because I'll have to check on who was being tried at that moment and what motive someone might have to cast a spell like this on you."

Malfoy shut his eyes, and his eyelashes fluttered up and down for a few seconds with the force of his breath. Then he jerked his head to the side, muttered, "I'll write the list out for you!" and bolted from the supply cupboard.

_He'll feel stupid when he realizes he didn't take any ingredients and has to come back for them, _Harry thought, shaking his head as he turned to gather up what he would need. He was determined to make the best attempt he could, even if it would probably just turn into goo.

* * *

"Well, _honestly_, Harry! You don't crush the valerian that way!"

Harry grimaced through the mask of grey stone-like sludge on his face and let Madam Pomfrey wave her wand over it, murmuring the charms that would peel it back without taking his skin with it. "Now I know that, Hermione. Thanks."

"If he'd let us work in pairs, then I could have advised you!"

Harry reached out and squeezed her arm. Hermione's face was pale, her eyes wet with suppressed tears, and her hands actually shook. She was far more upset than she should be if it was just Slughorn that was upsetting her. He knew she was probably thinking about her parents. She would make her first foray to Australia this weekend, traveling by International Floo and coming back Monday morning. It was just a scouting mission to start tracking them, but Harry knew her head was filled with visions of what would happen if she never managed to locate her mum or dad. Or, well, his would have been in the same situation, and hers probably was. "It's fine, Hermione. Next time I'll remember."

Hermione rolled her eyes as Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue. "I hope there will not _be _a next time, Mr. Potter," she said, and then waved her wand again and began removing the solidified potion from his hands.

Harry glanced ruefully down at them. The only thing he could say that was good about this particular disaster was that it had made Malfoy grin at him as Hermione ushered him out of the classroom and to the hospital wing. He probably felt good about being the acknowledged genius and most talented student in the class again.

And Harry thought he was going to find the more complex ingredients that Snape would probably give him for that potion he wanted to brew?

Harry shook his head. He was going to try, that was all. And he thought he would probably foul it up less than actually mixing the potion. Surely Snape would do that himself.

"You're free to go, Mr. Potter." Pomfrey stepped away from him and sighed in his direction. "And next time, listen to what Miss Granger says about the valerian."

Harry promised meekly, and he and Hermione left to join Ron for lunch. Ron was laughing when he saw them, and smirked at Harry. Harry rolled his eyes. The story of his disaster in Potions had filtered out to the general population, then.

"What was _that_?" Ron demanded when Harry had a mouthful of tomatoes and couldn't answer him. "An attempt to show you know enough about Potions to use them as weapons in battle?"

"That would be brilliant," Harry answered, swallowing instead of talking through the mouthful of food when he saw Hermione's warning glance. "Can you imagine the expression on some of those Death Eaters' faces if I went after them with an exploding potion?"

Ron shook his head. "Don't try it, mate. I think you're mad to be in that class, myself. I want to do something _fun_ with my life."

"Like not be an Auror, maybe?" Hermione asked, with a pointed little smile that made Harry wince for Ron. Ron looked as if he'd been pierced to the heart. "Because you have to have a NEWT in Potions to become an Auror."

"Um," Ron said. "But I have my own private tutor?" He gave Hermione a sickly smile that was probably meant to be a beam.

Hermione turned away with a little sniff. Ron started muttering in order to appease her, or maybe to make her more angry—he didn't seem to know himself what he wanted. Harry turned back to his lunch with a smile.

He'd have to work harder, sure, he thought, thinking about the ingredients he would gather that night, if Snape had the list ready for him, and the extra study he'd have to work on with the spell that might have been cast on Malfoy, once Malfoy had _that _list of details ready. But he could do it.

He could do almost anything, after Voldemort.

* * *

"We are going to do something new today, students."

Harry glanced up with his eyebrows raised. Flitwick was standing on a taller chair than usual, rather than his stack of cushions that he'd used in the past, and he was waving his wand for attention. A colorful tail of ribbons chased his wand across the air. Harry smiled and focused on Flitwick, who beamed at him as though he had done something more praiseworthy than that.

"We are going to work on casting triad charms," Flitwick said, and paused impressively. Of course, Hermione's hand was already aloft and swooping around like a hunting owl. Harry had to swallow back a thickness in his throat as he thought about Hedwig. "Yes, Miss Granger, what are they?" Flitwick added.

"They're charms that depend on one wizard feeding his strength to the other two, so they can cast the charm literally in tandem," Hermione said, blurting out the words with wide eyes as though she was afraid someone would either take them away from her or Flitwick would say she was wrong if she didn't hurry. "And they're considered more dangerous than usual for NEWT students, Professor! I thought," she added, because Flitwick had opened his mouth as though to remind her where they were.

Flitwick beamed back at her and nodded. "Quite right, my dear! But that need not concern _us_, not when we are practiced and capable wizards and I will be right here to correct any mistake you might make." He looked around the room, and then frowned. "However, we don't have even groups of three in this class. Such a pity."

He was right, Harry noticed when he turned his head to survey the classroom. There were seventeen students in the NEWT class. But Harry didn't see that that was such a big deal. Flitwick could be the third person in the triad for two other people, and meanwhile, he would be with Ron and Hermione.

Flitwick shook his head decisively, though, which seemed to reject such a simple solution. "I must remain aloof to watch for mistakes," he murmured. "Participating in a triad myself…not a good idea, oh, not a good idea at all." He studied them a moment longer, then brightened. "We can still practice the charms with one person acting as the feeder of magic and the other wizard casting the spell, though not with as powerful an effect," he announced. "And we will switch which group takes that blow from day to day, so no one has to practice with only one person all the time."

Harry shoved his chair towards Ron and Hermione. Flitwick immediately looked at him, and said, "Mr. Potter, with Mr. Malfoy, please. You will be our two-person group for today."

Harry stared at him, stunned. Then he shrugged, fended off the outraged hand that Ron was raising, and turned and walked towards Malfoy instead.

Malfoy sat there with his head all stiff and upright, and when Harry sat down in the chair beside him, he hissed, "You needn't think I'm going to make this easy for you. I know all about triad charms. We learned about them last year. I'll be the one who's ahead for once, and you're going to be behind."

"Yeah, Malfoy, whatever you say," Harry said vaguely, glancing over his shoulder. Flitwick had put Ron and Hermione with Terry Boot. Not a bad choice, Harry reckoned, given that he knew fuck-all about what kind of magical characteristics triad charms required. "Not that you could have learned all that much with the Carrows running the school."

When he turned back, Malfoy had flushed a furious pink and was opening his mouth to retort when Harry added, "And this way, it gives us an excuse to talk. No one says that every word we exchange has to be about triad charms."

Malfoy froze for a second, then shook himself like a peacock that had had its tail stepped on. "Of course," he said. "I would have thought of that."

Harry shrugged, and turned back to the front to watch as Flitwick waved his be-ribboned wand for attention again.

"Now," Flitwick said importantly. "Triad charms take some trust." Harry and Malfoy rolled their eyes at the exact same time, and Harry had to stifle a grin. _So we have that much in common, at least. _"There may also be some people in your group better-suited to one role than others. If you find you cannot make the feeder charm that's meant to bind your magic to someone else's work, that is a sign you should cast the spells with their magic instead. But only after you make a _sincere _attempt, mind."

Flitwick then led them through the incantation for the feeder charm, which would bind over your power. Harry saw more than one grimace throughout the classroom. He had to admit, he wasn't all that happy himself at the idea that someone else would be using his magic instead of him.

But, well, if he learned this, then he could be more effective at working with Ron and Hermione in the future. So he lifted his wand towards the ceiling, waited until Flitwick glanced expectantly at him, and said, "_Revelo cibum_."

The air around him lit with a wash of green light that leaped towards the ceiling and spattered back in sparks, dying out just before they reached the level of their hair. Harry tried quickly to hide his flinch. The light had been the color of the Killing Curse, which Flitwick _really _hadn't mentioned.

Malfoy made a small noise. Harry glanced to the side, wondering if he was having a problem with casting the feeder charm, and noticed Malfoy was staring at him with his eyes narrowed.

Harry lifted his head and glared at him. _Well, yeah, arsehole. So I flinch a little at the color of the light. So what? It's not as though you're any better than I am._

Malfoy did cast the feeder charm himself, but he never took his eyes off Harry while he did it, and didn't seem surprised when the incantation produced only a dull, throbbing glow from in front of him. It didn't shoot up to the ceiling, and it was a lime-green instead of the bright green. Harry wondered if that was the reason no one else had flinched, because the color was unique to the person casting it.

"It seems you'll give your power to _me_ for once, Potter," Malfoy said, an odd half-smile playing along his mouth.

"Do you have the list of details about the day the curse was cast yet?" Harry asked, bending his head close so he could be sure no one else heard them.

Malfoy's smile vanished, so fast that he looked for a moment as if it hurt. Then he ground his teeth and said, "No. And will you _pay attention _to what I'm doing, please?" He turned around huffily and cast the second spell Flitwick had told them to, one that should tell them whether the person casting it was a good candidate for earning power from the triad charm.

Harry sighed as he watched that particular charm produce a dancing blue flame for Malfoy. Of course. He had to act as the git's servant during this, and he didn't know if he would ever get the chance to practice with Ron and Hermione.

Then he relaxed a little. A third person would join their group in the next Charms class, or they would be assigned to different ones. He didn't have to worry for long.

"So how does it feel, Potter, to know that I'm more powerful than you?"

Harry gaped at him this time. Then he snorted, and let the rage out for almost the first time since the end of the war. It hadn't seemed like he had many things to be angry about when he was trying to survive himself and help everyone else do it, too. Trust Malfoy to prove to him how very wrong he was. "I'm sorry, was the spell supposed to prove that? I thought I was _stronger_, since my light was a lot brighter than yours was."

Malfoy's face flushed, and his hand crushed the blue flame, smothering it. "You're still going to be giving your magic to me," he whispered harshly. "The incantation you used included the word _cibum_, and do you know what that means? _Food_."

Harry shrugged. "And at least I can accept that, instead of—"

"I saw your face, Potter. You were revolted."

_Oh. That's why he thought I flinched when I saw that green light. _Flitwick was telling them what to do next. Harry did have the time to hiss at Malfoy, though, "Think about the color of the spell I cast, and think of other reasons," and then resolutely faced forwards again.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to help Malfoy after all, if Malfoy was going to be such a _git _about things.

_It has to be hard, to be isolated from all your friends and see them turn against you…_

_And since when does understanding why someone does something mean condoning it? You can know why George was hurting himself at Fred's funeral without thinking he should._

Malfoy made no attempt to speak to him for the rest of class, and Harry thought it was just as well. He grabbed his bag and book and wand the moment they were done and hurried to catch up with Ron and Hermione. They made room for him without protest, and involved him immediately in a discussion of triad charms.

Harry joined them with relief. _At least I can say I know who my real friends are. That's not something a lot of people have._


	6. Seeking Everything But Rosemary

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Six—Seeking Everything But Rosemary_

_Potter. It's time._

The owl had showed up just as he was getting ready to go to sleep with that message, so Harry reckoned Snape was ready to see him. He had shooed the owl out the window before any of the other boys could come up the stairs or out of the bathrooms, and then drawn the curtains around his bed as though he was really tired and wanted to go to sleep early. Then he motioned the owl towards him and through the gap in them.

The owl ruffled its wings at him and hooted as though it found his actions ridiculous. Harry didn't care what it liked. He cast a few spells on the paper just to make sure it wasn't bespelled, and then sighed. No. It wasn't. It was just Snape, being stupid and terse as usual.

"I reckon you're going to guide me?" he asked the owl.

The owl reared without a sound and flew back from the bed to the window, then soared out the window without waiting for him. Harry nodded. Yes, that made sense. Snape couldn't move from the Shrieking Shack, as he had told Harry last time, so of course he would still be in the same place.

Harry took his Invisibility Cloak this time, and left a note on the bed telling Ron and Hermione that he'd gone to the Shrieking Shack. It wouldn't necessarily reassure them, but it might keep them from panicking.

This night seemed brighter and noisier than last night, but that was probably just because he had to dodge lots of people in the castle and it was earlier. By the time he got outside, he felt more sympathy than he'd ever expected to for McGonagall and the prefects and the rules that everyone had to be in bed by curfew.

Well. Except him, of course. Because what he was doing was _important_.

He forged a path across the Quidditch pitch, deliberately treading in circles to make it harder for someone to track him. He didn't think anyone was following him, since he'd checked several times, but there could be people in the castle who were cleverer with concealing charms than him. Professor Klein, for example.

_I wonder if Snape knows about her? _

Again, he hit the knot that made the Whomping Willow stop moving, and this time he pressed it again once he was inside the canopy of branches. He hadn't thought of that last night, but now he winced to think about what would have happened if someone had followed him and seen the tree still. Someone who knew the secret of the Shack, maybe, and who and what used to live there.

_If not what lives there now._

_ And I wish there was a bloody easier way than this, _he added inside his head, as he dropped to his stomach and thrashed his way through the stupid dusty tunnel. At least now he knew the temptation to sneeze and the odd scratchy feeling in the back of his throat came just as much from the incense that Snape had to use to stay alive.

He paused outside the room to shake some dust off his Cloak and pull the hood back from his head. Then he slid inside, glancing around and making sure that his hand was on his wand.

Snape sat slumped against the far wall, as before, and there was still a blue chalk circle on the floor with the brazier burning in the middle. Harry hesitated, looking at him. He wondered if Snape was awake. His chest rose and fell slowly enough for him to be asleep.

"Snape?" he whispered.

"How touching your concern for my beauty sleep, Potter," Snape rasped, and brought his head up as though it weighed as much as an iceberg. "I assure you, I do not rest normally any more than I eat normally."

Harry just nodded. He wanted to know what that meant, but he also knew that asking Snape to explain would be stupid. Snape would sneer and declaim about how he hadn't visited the library to research his condition. _Never mind that visiting the library before we had proper homework would tell everyone who wanted to pay attention that something was wrong. _Harry took the Cloak off and sat down on the floor outside the chalk circle. "Did you finish writing down the list of ingredients you need?"

Snape grimaced. "I did. Here." A waft of smoke from the brazier snapped up a pierce of parchment from his hand and floated it towards Harry across the circle. He caught it and examined it for a moment. The list of plants was mostly unfamiliar. In fact, the ones he recognized were the ones where Snape had written down what he _didn't _want.

"No rosemary?" he asked, seeing that that name had been underlined in the "negative" category and had exclamation points after it. "Why?"

Snape leaned forwards, although Harry had to look up before he realized it. Snape's eyes glittered, and his hand closed on air with what looked like a ripping motion. "Do I question your ill-advised adventures, Potter?" he whispered.

"Well, _yeah_," Harry said. "All the time."

Snape turned his head aside and touched the leaves clamped to his neck. Harry squinted to try and see if there was more blood around them than usual, but he really couldn't make it out from this distance and with the smoke wavering all around in between. "You shall not hear it from me now," Snape said. "I have more important things to concern myself with. And I expect that I shall have more than enough exposure to your bad decisions, with all the false matches you will bring me and that I must sort through."

Harry snorted. "What else do you have to do?"

He was sorry as soon as he saw the way Snape's head jerked around. He couldn't see the flash of his eyes this time, since the smoke grew especially thick, but he knew his words had hurt Snape for some reason. Harry dropped his head and sighed. "Sorry," he said.

Snape said nothing for some moments. Then he said, "You will bring the ingredients to me, and I will brew the potion, and then we need have nothing more to do with each other." He turned away, resting against the wall, and closed his eyes. Harry coughed hesitantly, wondering if Snape would turn around if he did that, but nothing happened.

In the end, there really was nothing for Harry to do but take the list and leave. He looked towards the Forbidden Forest, thinking of going into it to hunt for the ingredients, but it was night and he was tired and he wasn't that stupid.

As he wandered back towards the castle, he reflected that he hadn't expected to get Snape's list of details first. Was it really that hard for Malfoy to remember a day Harry would have thought branded in his mind?

_Maybe he has trouble confronting it._

That, in the end, wasn't Harry's problem. Either Malfoy would get the list to him, or not. Either Harry would be able to help with the spell that isolated Malfoy from his friends, or not.

_I hope I can do it before he dies. _

_But, again, it depends on him getting that list to me._

* * *

"Rubbish as usual, Potter."

Malfoy had appeared next to his table in the library, where Harry was struggling to write his Potions essay. He was more than half-convinced that Slughorn had set them two feet, due the _next day_, because he was so disappointed in Harry's performance with the Draught of Living Death. Well, not more disappointed than Harry himself. Harry had to control the temptation to tell him to fuck off.

"What's rubbish?" Harry flicked his hair out of his eyes and glanced up at Malfoy. He looked as though he'd spent ten minutes on his hair and ninety on his clothes. He took a seat opposite Harry, and somehow did it without one crease appearing in his trousers or robes. Harry shook his head. He wondered if he would have more of a chance of impressing the reporters and getting them to go away if he learned how to do that. Then again, impress them and they would probably only want to interview him all the more.

"Your essay." Malfoy took a look at it and then snorted. "I'll have you know valerian doesn't _do_ that."

"Yes, it does," Harry said irritably, and pushed his book and essay both away from Malfoy so he couldn't spit on them or something, "when you don't crush it properly. If you've come to lecture me on it, then you can leave. Hermione already beat you to it."

"Did she?" Malfoy's smile was slow and delighted, and Harry wondered for a second if Ron needed to be worried about competition for Hermione. "Well, yes, she would have. I saw her face when you smeared the potion all over yourself in the explosion."

"Did you have a point in coming over here, or are you just going to babble at me?" Harry refocused on the paragraph in front of him and scratched out another line. Malfoy had hesitated at the question, his eyes narrowing as if he suspected Harry of taunting him.

"I had _plenty _of reason," Malfoy snapped, his back and shoulders all bristling haughtiness. "Here." He pressed something into Harry's hand under the table, and it took Harry a few moments to realize it was a folded square of parchment. He took it and dropped it into the pocket of his robe. He would have unfolded it to read it, but he suspected that doing so might panic Malfoy. Even though no one else could possibly be as interested in the list of details as he and Harry were.

_Unless his enemy is in the school. _Harry had to accept that possibility, especially if the caster was a Slytherin who had somehow managed to confuse themselves along with everyone else. He touched the square in his pocket again and took a quick look under his lashes at Malfoy. He had a pink flush on his cheeks—haughtiness touched with fear. His hands locked and twisted around each other on his lap, though the moment he caught Harry looking, he stopped that.

"That's everything?" he asked in a low tone.

Malfoy nodded. "Everything I could remember. It took me a while to—think of it."

"'Course," Harry muttered, and patted Malfoy's arm awkwardly before he bent over his parchment again.

He expected Malfoy to leave now that he had delivered his message, but he lingered instead, and Harry finally rolled his eyes and glanced up at him. "Did Your Majesty want something else?" he asked.

Malfoy shrugged, but his face looked like iron, and he stared straight ahead and still didn't move. Harry rolled his eyes again and waited. If Malfoy had something to say, then he could bloody well say it in the next minute, or Harry would just give up on him and go back to his essay.

Well, maybe in the next two minutes.

All right, the next five.

Malfoy let out a long, slow, noiseless breath like something dying—like Snape dying, Harry thought in a comparison he really didn't want to make—and then turned to face him. "Here it is," he said.

He waited. Harry waited with him, and then made an encouraging noise when it seemed like Malfoy wouldn't go on without it.

"I want to know what you really think of the things that I did during the war," Malfoy said, his voice quick and low and rough. "Do you believe someone can—do evil and then return to normal again? The Wizengamot didn't think my father could, or most of my friends' parents." Then he paused, and his lip curled. "Well. I _call _them my friends."

Harry nodded. "I used the Unforgivable Curses during the war, Malfoy. I had to think that I could get over that and be a good person again, or there's no way I could have lived with myself."

Malfoy flicked his fringe out of his eyes in turn. "But you only used them for the noblest of reasons, I'm sure," he muttered, voice thick, almost honeyed, with bitterness. "What about someone who did evil things because he was afraid?"

"You mean, like torturing someone?" Harry asked, because he was tired of pretending that he didn't know what Malfoy was talking about.

Malfoy actually leaped to his feet with a startled cry. Madam Pince, who not even the war had changed, immediately rose to her feet, too, and fixed a gaze on him like a hawk's. She didn't have to speak the words; she simply nodded to the entrance of the library, and then sat down again, still watching.

"How did you know?" Malfoy whispered, for once ignoring the adults around him who wanted him to do something. His eyes were fastened on Harry's as if he had lost the ability to look away. "Who told you?"

Harry shook his head and pushed his fringe back so that Malfoy could see the bottom of his scar. That was all Harry felt like showing nowadays, although some of the first-years still peered after him, gaping. "No one told me. I had a connection to Voldemort with this during the war. That means I could see what he was doing and feeling at some specific moments, and I saw you torturing people because he told you to. That's all."

Malfoy sank back into his chair with a thump. Madam Pince rose to her feet, and this time she looked like a praying mantis, stalking over. Malfoy still didn't notice her. He stared at Harry instead. "I never knew," he whispered.

Harry sighed and started gathering up his parchment and books, because his concentration on his essay was ruined anyway. He'd have to come back later. "Come on. We have to discuss this somewhere else."

Malfoy finally noticed Madam Pince, and drew himself up with a haughty look in return. It was the first time Harry had really seen him resemble the person he'd been before the war for more than a second or so. "There is no problem here, Madam," he said. "Potter and I were just talking."

"You don't think I know what it means when you two start a row?" Pince could look really ferocious when she wanted to, Harry had to admit. Her scowl was pinching her forehead like it would cut it in two. "And Slytherins and Gryffindors in general? Get out, and come back when you can display behavior appropriate to a library."

Malfoy looked like he wanted to argue with her, but Harry doubted that that would be worth the effort. He pulled on Malfoy's arm instead, and Malfoy glanced back and forth between them. Then he snorted and stood. "Very well," he said. "But we have a right to use these books, too. And we _weren't _arguing."

"You don't do a good job of demonstrating it," Pince retorted, and then turned and strutted away again.

Malfoy muttered curses at her as they left, and all the way up the corridor. Harry finally broke in. "We do have more important things to talk about than her," he said. "Where's a place we can go that's private, but not threatening for you?"

Malfoy jerked to a stop and stared at him through a swirl of pale hair. "What do you mean, threatening for me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, I assume the Gryffindor common room is out, for example," he said. "And the classrooms where you were forced to watch the Carrows torture people last year. And the Room of Requirement, because that's where the Fiendfyre happened and I don't want you to have to relive the scene of your friend's death. What does that leave?"

Malfoy closed his eyes, then opened them. "Come with me," he said, and Harry followed him, stuffing his books into his bag as he went.

* * *

Hermione would probably yell at him. Ron would stare in amazement. Hell, most of the members of the Quidditch team would say he didn't _need _to give extra practice to a Slytherin.

But Malfoy had said that he felt most safe and most safe from listening ears on a broom above the pitch, and Harry could see the attraction of that. It wasn't like one of them couldn't keep up with the other.

They had to use school brooms, since there was no chance of getting theirs without someone seeing, but that was all right. This wasn't about a game. Harry stretched out along his broom as it hovered in midair and looked at the Forbidden Forest. He'd have to go in there later to search for Snape's ingredients, but right now he could just think about it as this distant mass of green instead of something threatening.

Malfoy, on the other hand, swirled past him with his broom exactly as though it was a violent game that he needed to have energy to play. Harry sighed and sat up, then threw himself forwards in pursuit.

They soared and jagged and circled around each other, moving in figure eights and loops and figures like upside-down letters. Harry felt his tension drain away as they flew. Well, some of his tension, anyway. He was still wondering about the list of details Malfoy had given him and how he was going to balance research into that spell on him with schoolwork and research into Snape's ingredients.

But those were problems no one could help him with, so when Malfoy pulled up and started speaking, Harry was in a good enough mood to listen.

"He made me torture them," Malfoy said. "But I was the one who did it. I could have resisted, like you. Like some of the other prisoners did. They would never give in and help him."

"And what happened to them?" Harry asked, wondering if part of helping Malfoy included being Malfoy's therapist.

Malfoy glared at him as if this was a trick question. "They died."

"Well, then," Harry said. He sat up on his broom and swung his legs, watching the way it made the shaft of the broom wobble back and forth. He would have to be careful about that if he was going to seriously fly, but he wasn't, and that was the whole point of this meeting with Malfoy. "You're alive, and they're dead. You made the decision that protected your life at the time."

Malfoy opened his mouth and laughed in a way that made Harry wince. It was so ugly, and it let Harry see such a long way down his throat. "You don't _understand_, do you?" he asked, and sneered the words as he said them. "You don't—you'll never understand the way that I feel, because you defied him and you lived."

"Then why talk to me, if I can never understand?" Harry swirled around and hung upside-down for a second, to see if the Forest or Malfoy looked different from this angle. They didn't, except that Malfoy's sneer was even uglier. Harry flipped himself back upright. "Is it just because you don't have anyone to talk to in Slytherin?"

Malfoy's cheeks flushed, and for a moment, his hands went so white on the broom that Harry thought he would fly away. Instead, he turned his head to the side and whispered, "You're not making me feel better."

"I'm not really trying to," Harry said, and then paused and listened to his own words. "All right, maybe I am, but I don't think this is the end of the world, Malfoy. You're hurting and suffering from what happened during the war. It'll go away, eventually. And anyone who tries to make you feel bad about it is a dick. They probably either ran away from Voldemort themselves, or did things they don't want to think about to survive. Think about all the people who worked in the Ministry and did awful things to Muggleborns, for example." He paused, then added, "Are your friends giving you shit about it?"

"Don't you think that one of them would have accused me of _torturing people _if the spell showed that to them?" Malfoy reached up and mopped his forehead off. It was as shiny as a newly-polished table with sweat. "No. They—they don't know. I made sure to keep it—from them." He clenched his jaw down, and a shiver seemed to sweep over him.

"Hey, don't faint," Harry said in alarm, and pushed his broom closer to Malfoy's. "We're a hundred feet in the air. I don't think it's a good idea."

Malfoy stared at him, then choked. "Yes, of course," he said. "Because that would be the worst thing in my life right now, falling to the ground."

"You'd die," Harry said quietly, reaching out so he could put one hand on the end of Malfoy's broom. "Which I had the impression you didn't want to do."

Malfoy jerked when Harry touched him, but didn't pull away. Harry leaned towards him. Malfoy's eyes were as wide and dark as the back of his throat, and he swallowed when Harry's hand closed down on his hand, then shut his eyes.

"Why are you being so nice?" he whispered. "You don't have to."

"I decided over the summer," Harry said, "that I was tired of living the way I did. I was sacrificing everything for everybody. I had to die to save the bloody world. And that was enough. Now I can do what I _want_, instead of what I have to all the time. And that means I can help you if I want to."

For some reason, that got him a stare out of one eye, and then a dusty laugh. "But you are still taking care of me," Malfoy said. "Someone you don't have to. Why did you make the decision that you wanted to?"

Harry hesitated. He hadn't thought about it that way before. Then he shrugged. It was still true that he'd chosen this, and that was the important thing. "Because I did," he said. "Because I listened to you, and it's a mystery to solve, and there's no one else around."

Malfoy snorted and ripped his hand free, nearly causing his broom to wobble. "So I'm just a charity case. I should have known."

"No, moron," Harry said. "Although someone has to protect you from the consequences of your own idiocy." He enjoyed the way Malfoy gaped at him before he went on, so that the git couldn't start talking again. "The point _is_, I think that I can solve this mystery. So I'm really taking it up for my own selfish reasons. You remember the way I ran around sixth year investigating what you were doing even though everyone told me to drop it? This is like that."

Malfoy leaned towards him suddenly, as though he'd seen something different in Harry's eyes he had to identify. "Yes," he said. "Like that."

Having Malfoy that close was a little bit creepy, Harry thought, feeling his spine prickle as he stared back into Malfoy's enormous grey eyes. But then, well, Malfoy didn't have any friends now and he was taking friendship where he could find it. So he'd probably be a little bit creepy and intense just because.

He finally had to clear his throat and turn away, because Malfoy wouldn't stop staring at him. "So," he said. "You want to play a short game to take your mind off things?"

Malfoy grinned at him, and the edges of his teeth seemed wolfish now. "Watch me beat you, Potter."

He didn't, but it was a closer game than Harry had thought it would be. He wondered if he was coming down with something.

_Better not. I think it's going to be pretty damp in the Forest._


	7. First Stages

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Seven—First Stages_

Harry swatted aside a branch, and then sneezed as it swung back into his face and leaves filled his nostrils. He paused, sighed, and cast a _Lumos_. In hindsight, his brilliant plan to go through the Forbidden Forest without a light—because that would mean he didn't draw attention—wasn't so brilliant after all.

_In any sense of the word, _he decided, blinking around at the trees that loomed in front of him. The roots made the ground hump and straggle away as though someone had broken it with a series of axe-blows. Harry bent down and squinted at the nearest one. Snape's list said that one of the kinds of fungus he wanted sometimes grew in the shade of large trees, on piles of hippogriff shit.

Nothing there, not even shit, just a little dusty hollow filled with fallen leaves. Harry paused to cast a Muffling Charm on his feet. There was some hope of walking silently now that he could actually see where he was going.

He also paused so he could get Snape's list of ingredients out of his bag. Other than the mushrooms and the fact that Snape didn't want rosemary, he'd forgotten what he was supposed to find.

Mushrooms, right. Lots of them. Unicorn water (and the list didn't say whether that was water a unicorn had pissed out or whether it was water touched by their horns, though Harry fervently hoped it was the latter). Dragon scales—Harry would have to steal those from Slughorn's stores, probably. Petals of a midnight rose. Roots of a midnight rose. Stem of a midnight rose. Harry rolled his eyes, wondering why Snape had bothered to list those separately.

Something crunched behind him.

Harry wheeled around, his wand raised. The light found a small shape that scuttled away wildly, a long, fiery tail flapping behind it. Harry relaxed. Only a Flame-Tailed Rat. Hagrid had mentioned them to Harry a few years ago.

He checked the list to be sure that Snape didn't need anything from the rats, then forged his way deeper into the Forest.

He had never realized how strange it would be to come in here at night. The gloom was deeper. The Forest seemed to inhale and exhale around him, so alive that Harry's shoulders prickled, waiting for something to drop on them. Now and then Harry could hear distant calls and songs. Half the birds in the Forest didn't seem to care it was night, or that autumn was coming and they ought to have migrated.

Once, Harry heard a harsh barking noise. He paused, thinking of werewolves and then of Greyback and wincing. The last he heard, they still weren't sure whether they had found Greyback or not, only bones that might or might not have been his.

But the barking faded, going overheard, and Harry nodded wisely. Probably the sounds of a flock of geese, who were migrating sensibly, the way birds should.

He literally stumbled into a small pond that splashed beneath his foot, and pulled back, disconcerted. It was a clear pool of water, at least, and it smelled fresh and sweet when he bent down and sniffed it. Perhaps this was unicorn water?

He couldn't see any sign that it was or wasn't, though, so he only used one of his vials from the bag he'd brought, until he could get it back to the makeshift potions lab he was setting up in the Room of Requirement and test it. Then he turned his head and saw the huge bush full of nodding black roses on the shores of the pond.

_Well. There you are._

He didn't know for _sure _if these were midnight roses, but they looked like the pictures in the book he'd hastily consulted in the library, and they must be magical flowers to still bloom this late in the year. He plucked several of them, using the gloves he'd borrowed from Herbology class when the thorns tried to sting him, and packed the tough flowers into another vial. Then he crouched down and looked dubiously at the roots.

_Did he mean the roots of the bush? Or was I supposed to find a flower growing alone and bring its roots?_

Harry didn't know, but in the end, it didn't prove that hard to hack loose a few roots and store them in another vial. It occurred to him, as he did, that he hadn't seen any other denizens of the Forbidden Forest yet, and he snorted. _They're probably all keeping away because they think I'm mad to be out here at midnight._

It was the best time, though. He'd probably be missed if went into the Forbidden Forest too early in the day, and later at night, his roommates had a tendency to wake up, especially Neville, who was already nervous about the NEWTS this early in the year. He straightened up, still prodding at the roots so they would fit into the tiny vial he'd brought along.

Something growled behind him.

Harry swallowed, staring straight ahead. The growl repeated itself, and he counted to three under his breath, then leaped back, sitting his shoulders and spine against a solid tree with huge roots spreading out like hillocks to either side of him, so it would be hard for creatures to attack him from those directions. Then he thought hard about a nonverbal incantation and swished his wand through the patterns, and the light coming from his wand swelled, chasing the shadows away.

A wolf stood at the edge of the light, staring at him. His charm made its eyes grow red, and it retreated with another growl, but didn't run. That surprised Harry. Remus had told him more than once that real wolves were shy of people, and this looked like a normal wolf, not a werewolf. It wasn't full moon, anyway.

_Although who says that some really accomplished ones like Greyback can't change their shapes at other times?_

But no, it was still too small, and its head looked nothing like the twisted nightmare Remus had turned into during Harry's third year. He stood there, and the wolf stood there, and Harry started to feel a bit stupid when he realized that the wolf was regarding him like it was a prefect and he was a trespassing student in the corridors of Hogwarts.

"Go away," Harry said, loud enough that his voice seemed to bounce back from the walls of a huge cavern and rouse more than one echo it really shouldn't have. "_Shoo_."

The wolf stuck its tail out, low, and swept it back and forth. Harry hoped it was wagging it, but he knew that his luck wasn't _that _good. Sure enough, a moment later the wolf charged him, moving in absolute silence and faster than he had known it could, springing over the pool between them.

"_Protego!_" Harry shouted, not caring what other creatures of the Forest he might rouse with the noise. Hell, at the moment he would be glad to see some centaurs, bows and arrows and all.

The wolf's nose hit the shield that appeared in front of it, and it rolled away, baring its teeth at him as it landed. For a moment, it raised one paw as though it would touch the end of its nose and soothe the sting, and then it started to circle around the tree-root, hackles raised and tail still held low and vibrating.

"What did I do to you, I'd like to know?" Harry muttered, turning so he could keep it in sight. "You aren't starving, it isn't winter, and I didn't threaten your puppies. Go away and go to sleep."

The wolf's tail quivered, as though it understood the words and took them to be a personal insult. Then it crouched again and aimed for the side of the enormous root. When it landed on top of it, it panted once in triumph before trying for him once more.

This time, Harry used a Shield Charm that angled up, like a roof tilted to dump off rainwater, and the wolf hit it and tumbled down. It righted itself before it hit on its side and turned its head to stare at him with immense dignity.

"Well, yeah," Harry muttered at it, shaking his head. "Play with a wizard who can use defensive magic and you're going to get hurt."

The wolf sat down beside the rosebush and studied him for a few moments. Harry cast a spell that made the noises of fireworks appear in the air, although no sign of their light. The wolf leaped to its feet, fur bristling, when the spell took effect, but after a few seconds of staring about and cocking its ears back and forth, it sat down again and resumed its study.

"What do you _want_?" Harry snapped at it, though he knew the chances it could understand him were remote. Perhaps it had some werewolf blood, though, which would explain the abnormal way it was acting as well as its lack of fear of humans. "Tell me, and maybe I can give it to you, and then you can go away and leave me alone."

The wolf bowed its head and opened its jaws. Harry winced when he heard it hacking; if it was throwing up to show its contempt of him or something, it sounded as though it might bring half its intestines with the vomit.

But instead, the wolf shook, ripples running through it as though it had become water itself, and then suddenly, a naked man crouched where the wolf had been. Harry stared at him in silence. His skin was grey—not grey like Snape's had been, not dim with ingrained dirt, but simply the color of a wolf's pelt. Faint stripes covered his hands and his nose, which was unnaturally long. He raised his head, and his eyes were as golden as the wolf's, and still shone red now and then in the light.

"Um," Harry said. "Holy fuck."

The creature shook his head. "Holy nothing," he said, in strained but recognizable English. His teeth flashed as he spoke, and Harry saw why he had trouble speaking; his fangs remained long enough to catch his tongue as it traveled between them. "I am myself." He raised one leg as though to scratch behind an ear, then dropped it to the ground with a sigh of frustration and a small explosion of leaves. "Your kind—your kind would, perhaps, call me a wolfwere."

"A—wolf who turns into a human," Harry said. "But why?"

"Magical creatures are their own why." The wolfwere studied him, eyes flickering especially to the bag he carried to hold the vials and gloves and other things he had thought he would need to collect the Potions ingredients. "Why are you stealing plants from my land?"

"Because I know someone who needs them to brew a potion to come back to life," Harry said.

He could think of more than one human person who would have started at that, and then started asking questions he couldn't answer. But his response seemed to relax the wolfwere. His tongue dangled between his teeth as though he was laughing, and then he nodded. "The one who smells of death? The one who is beneath the tree on the edge of the woods? I know him."

"Then you don't have objections to my taking the potions ingredients for him?" Harry asked cautiously. It was better than the punishment he might have got from the centaurs, at least. And he wondered if he could ask the wolfwere for help in finding some of the plants. He might know them by smell.

"If you pay the price," the wolfwere said.

Harry shook his head. "I won't let you kill me."

"Eating your meat outside of winter would not be a good idea," the wolfwere said, and went on before Harry could wonder what would happen when winter came. "I want help finding my pups."

Harry blinked. "Someone took them?"

"They are gone." The wolfwere seemed to have a habit of not answering his questions the way anyone else would. He moved his head restlessly back and forth, lips wrinkling back from his teeth in a way that made Harry think he would snarl, but he didn't make a sound. "I returned from the hunt, and the scent in the den was cold. I have a mate, and I have an older child. They did not sense anything, either."

"Can they change into humans, too?" Harry asked.

The wolfwere shook his head. "They were nearby when the pups went into the den. And they saw and heard and smelled nothing."

Harry frowned, thinking about it. "Is there a back entrance out of the den? One the pups might have found but you didn't know about?"

The wolfwere showed his teeth again, but there was something haughty now about the tilt of his head. Harry wondered if that was on purpose. Of course, the headshake showed that he knew at least _something _about human body language. "We investigated the den thoroughly before we chose it. If there had been a passage, there would have been a movement of air. A scent. We sensed nothing."

"All right," Harry said, and wondered if he had to go and help tonight. _Probably_. The trail would get cold. "How long ago was this?"

"Last evening." The wolfwere heaved himself to his feet, as if he would try walking on two legs, and Harry had to look away. He didn't spend time checking out naked blokes in the showers, and he wouldn't do it here, either. In the end, though, the wolfwere settled back on his haunches and sighed. "We can find nothing."

"Do they have names?" Harry lifted his wand higher.

The wolfwere gave him a patient look, and Harry understood. They wouldn't have names in the sense he meant, although they would presumably have distinctive smells and sounds they made. Harry nodded and turned into the Forest, waiting until the wolfwere told him he was facing the right direction. Then he whispered, "_Point Me _wolf pups."

The wand wavered uncertainly before it stabilized, pointing straight into the depths of the Forest. Harry sighed. Of course, his life couldn't be easy and the pups couldn't be close to the castle. Right into the depths of the Forbidden Forest, at night. Why had he agreed to do this, again?

_Oh, yeah. I chose to. _

_ And sometimes choosing sucks. _

"Come on," he told the wolfwere, and found himself listening as he padded after him, over the tree-roots and up a thin path that a deer, or centaur, might have made. Still no noise, although moving around in a human body had to be clumsier than a wolf one. Harry shivered absently and promised to spend some time with magical creature books when he went back to the library.

_In between all the other things that you have to research. _But at least it seemed that Malfoy's spell and Snape's ingredients were less likely to surprise him in the Forest at night.

* * *

The trail led them past more pools, through clearings with the grass trampled flat by what might have been dancing house-elves for all Harry knew, over more tree roots and small hills and one large hill that made Harry pant as they climbed it. The wolfwere loped beside him all the while, watching him critically out of the corner of one eye. Harry scowled back at him. _Yeah, well. I'd like to see you come to Hogwarts and perform magic as well as I do. I could have used my magic to climb the hill better if I'd wanted._

They reached the bottom of that hill, and the wolfwere froze, head held up, nose twitching. His fingers clenched the dirt in front of him, and he showed his teeth in the way that had made Harry wonder what the gesture meant for him before. This time, he was especially sure it wasn't a smile.

"I smell them," the wolfwere whispered. Then he sniffed again, shifting his head to the side as if to catch the smell more clearly, and froze, his fingers clenching in and out of the dirt again. "I smell—wolf. I do not know if it is them."

The note in his voice made Harry want to pat him on the shoulder in commiseration, but he didn't think the wolfwere would allow that. He smiled instead, reassuring just in case the wolfwere wanted that, and nodded. "Then come on. We'll rescue them if there's any way we can. If that's them."

The wolfwere sprang into the darkness without answering. Harry had to trail behind and watch out for the flash of his legs as best he could.

They ended up at a branch in the path. The wolfwere paused, eyes closed as he sorted through the input from his ears and nose—at least, Harry thought that was what he was doing—and then snarled and opened his eyes. He sprang away down the right-hand fork, and Harry crunched after him, pausing a second to renew the Muffling Charm on his feet. No use in warning whoever was waiting for them.

It was a clever plan, or at least he thought so, but by the time he looked up again, the wolfwere had blended into the darkness.

"Bugger," Harry muttered, turning in a circle. He had no name to call. Perhaps he should have asked the wolfwere to give him one. The Point Me spell had faded, and Harry thought he probably needed to cast it again. At last he did, whispering so that no one would hear him, and focusing it on the wolfwere this time.

The wand practically shot out of his hand. Harry jogged through some thick underbrush and then abruptly crouched down. There was the ruddy glow of a fire ahead, and he could see a gleam off to the side that was probably the wolfwere's eyes reflecting the light of the flames.

"Down," the wolfwere snarled at him, but Harry didn't need the advice. He could feel adrenaline flooding his veins, and his head clearing. He waited, his wand in his hand and his legs so lightly poised that he felt as if he could move in any direction and be dangerous. This was the way he had felt facing Voldemort at the last, and when he battled Death Eaters. He would make the right decisions, or he would die.

A tall figure moved across the firelight. Harry tensed, and heard the wolfwere tensing, too. The figure stooped down and picked up something from the ashes. It was soft and limp and dangled, and reminded Harry of a dead kitten.

And might, from the limpness of it, have been a dead wolf pup.

The wolfwere had decided not to wait. Again he leaped, soaring as he had when he tried to climb the tree-root and attack Harry. Harry charged behind him, shouting. There was a chance the shout might startle whoever it was, and the advantage of surprise was lost anyway as soon as someone saw the wolfwere's shadow moving across the ground.

The tall figure whipped around, dropping to one knee. A Stunner slammed into the wolfwere, dropping him to the ground with his head splayed to the side and his golden eyes glaring viciously into nothing. A shield appeared in front of Harry at the same moment, as the figure swept its wand around in front of it.

Harry skidded to a stop before he could hit the shield, ducked around it, and cast a Blasting Curse, the first one that leaped to mind. The figure was wearing a hooded cloak, and he couldn't see who it was. But a hooded cloak made him think of Death Eaters, and someone who would murder wolf pups probably wouldn't stop there.

The figure blocked and returned a stream of pale green light that reminded Harry of the Killing Curse. A skip and a roll, and he was out of the way. He focused on the memory of holding Teddy Lupin in his arms for the first time when he visited Andromeda this summer, and shouted, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

The stag charged out of his wand and around the camp—not able to do anything, since the person he was fighting wasn't a Dementor, but showy enough to be a distraction. Sure enough, his opponent reeled to its feet, and Harry called out the Disarming Charm and _Incarcerous _at the same time.

The figure managed to dodge the ropes, but its wand flew over to Harry. Harry immediately stuck it in his back pocket and cast a Sticking Charm—he had learned the hard way to make sure he kept wands with him—and took a step towards the figure. "Surrender."

A pause, and then long pale hands reached up and drew back the hood of the cloak. At the same time, the figure moved closer so that Harry could see its face in the light of the fire.

"I must say," said Professor Klein, looking at him with interest, "it is some comfort to find your reputation is not exaggerated."

Harry stared at her, then shook his head. "Professor. What are you doing out in the Forest?"

"That is a question I could also ask you." Klein smiled at him. It was the most animated he had seen her since she arrived. She looked at the wolfwere and sniffed. "I suppose it was not your choice to keep company with this creature."

"He was looking for his pups," Harry said, and then shook his head again. She still wasn't answering his questions, and _she _was the one who had attacked _him_, when he was in the light and she could see his face perfectly well. "Anyway. Tell me what you're doing here, and why you had one of his pups." Looking down, he could see a small dead wolf lying in the dirt at Klein's feet.

"I was investigating rumors of a Death Eater camp and Death Eater sightings in the Forest," Klein said. "One that my superiors warned me to keep you well away from." She rolled her eyes. "At least you can fight well, and should you find any of Voldemort's supporters, then you may stand a chance against them. But they will want to kill you in the name of their Lord, and will not fight as gently as I did tonight. Please stay out of the Forest, Mr. Potter. It would be best for you."

"Your _superiors_?" Harry stared at her. "You shouldn't have any of those except McGonagall. Did the board of governors hire you?"

Klein laughed, a harsh noise that sounded like the cough of a dragon getting ready to breathe fire. "No, and they would be most dismayed if they knew I was here. There are still some who think you should be kept ignorant and out of the way, and perhaps disposed of quietly when you have no more use to them and the interests they represent. No, I am here with the Headmistress's agreement, but under a false title—one I will thank you not to betray. The proper one would be _Auror_."

"You're here because of the Death Eater sightings?" Harry shook his head. "Or to bodyguard me?"

"Both."

Harry glared at her. "And did you find them?"

"Someone has made camp here and killed animals for sport, including these poor pups." Klein nodded down, and Harry winced when he saw four or five small bodies strewn around the fire. _The poor wolfwere._ "Others, they've killed for food. How long they might have made camp here, I cannot tell. The fire has a charm on it to keep it burning, but no one has been here for at least twenty-four hours."

Harry started to respond, but just then Klein turned her head to the side. Harry's first thought was that the wolfwere had recovered from her Stunner, but instead he heard a loud crackling, and saw a ripple of movement at the edge of the trees.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" he called, since he still had Klein's wand. The childish Disillusionment Charm promptly ended, and the figure tangled up in its own cloak crashed into the open.

Harry blinked. He couldn't say anything. It was left to Klein to murmur, "Mr. Malfoy. And what are _you_ doing here?"


	8. Following People Through the Forest

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Eight—Following People Through the Forest at Night_

"So let me get this straight," Harry said for the third time, because Malfoy's first two explanations had made no sense. He rubbed his head and took a sip of the cup of water he had conjured when he realized they were going to be here a while.

He'd given Klein's wand back to her, because she hadn't shown any inclination to attack him, or Malfoy either. She simply stood back with her arms folded and her smile permanently fixed to her face, while Harry sat in the dirt and Malfoy stood in front of him with his arms folded like a parody of Klein. Harry was the only one who seemed interested in figuring out what to _really _say and do; Malfoy only told his story, and then stuck his lip out when Harry didn't buy it.

_I might buy it if I could understand it, _Harry thought, and rubbed his forehead again, where he could feel a headache coming on.

"Right," Harry told the air, and then faced Malfoy. "So you followed me when you saw me leaving the school, because…?" He raised his eyebrows and nodded encouragingly, so Malfoy would understand an explanation of some kind was required.

Malfoy looked at him haughtily and said nothing for a moment. Then he gave in to the encouragement, sniffing as he did so. "I wondered what you were doing out of bed so late at night. I wondered if you were going to the library to research…" His eyes flickered warily over to Klein, and he shook his head slightly, as if to tell Harry he mistrusted her. Well, of _course _he did. "That matter I told you about. So I followed you."

"But it should have been obvious after a little while that I wasn't going to the library," Harry said. "So why did you keep following me?"

"Because I wanted to know where you _were _going," Malfoy said, and managed to convey with a particular glint of his eyes that he pitied Harry for not thinking of that.

Harry nodded patiently. "And why didn't you reveal yourself to me when you realized I was going into danger? Or go back?" This was the part where Malfoy always got lost in his story. The first time, he had claimed it was fear, and that he wanted Harry to protect him—only how would Harry do that when he didn't even know Malfoy was there? The second time he said he had only been curious, and wanted to get Harry in trouble, since he was a prefect. Except he _wasn't _a prefect; McGonagall had taken the office away from him when they got back to school. Harry wasn't sure why, and didn't see that it was his business to ask.

Malfoy hesitated. Harry added, "Feel free to tell the truth this time."

"It's that," Malfoy said, "the school's changed." He cast one glance at Klein, and then seemed to decide she could hear what he was saying if she wanted, and he didn't care. "I don't have a place here now. I barely have a place even in Slytherin House, which was where I assumed I would always have one. My _friends _are turning against me." He swallowed, and Harry heard the _click _of the sound from here. "I don't want to be outcast like that. I thought—I hoped—that I would find something if I followed you. Something I could report to someone, so I would be important again for a little while, or something you wouldn't want me to find out, so I could blackmail you and be important that way." His hands clenched into fists. "I admit it wasn't well-thought-out, Potter. But I want things to _change_, and it was an impulsive plan that I came up with on the spur of the moment. It was the best thing I could think of right then."

"Well, some of my plans were like that, too," Harry muttered, and rubbed his head again. He thought this was the truth, or near enough that Malfoy lying wouldn't make a huge difference. _I wish I could give him some of my attention. There's enough of it and to spare, and God knows _I _don't want the bloody stuff._

"Right," Malfoy said, and took a step towards Harry, then stopped to look at Klein again. "I knew I could trust you to understand."

"Once you explained it to me, sure," Harry said, and nodded, and stood up. "Anyway, what I'm doing tonight is already known to one professor." He jerked his head to the side, at Klein. "So you don't have to worry about blackmailing me or reporting it to someone else. You can leave, now."

"And find my way back through the dark, dangerous forest by myself?" Malfoy touched his chest with one hand in a perfect parody of the heroines in some Muggle films Harry had watched during the past summer. Mr. Weasley had finally got a telly to work, and the whole family had spent a few days in front of it, enthralled and forgetting the grief of Fred's death as best they might. "How can you suggest such a thing, Mr. Potter?" He fluttered his eyelashes at Harry.

Harry just studied him thoughtfully, and didn't respond. Malfoy, when he begged for help in school and talked about the spell someone had used against him, even when he gave his reasons for following Harry into the Forest, had acted more innocent and helpless—and stupider—than usual. Just now he sounded more like his old self than he had since the school year began.

Malfoy caught his eye and seemed to understand what he was thinking and, in typical Malfoy fashion, to resent it. He deflated and looked away from Harry. "Anyway," he said sullenly. "It's impossible."

"Why?" Harry asked. "You could at least stay here inside one of those Indestructible Bubbles that we studied the other day in Charms, and you'd be safer."

Malfoy sniffed at him. "And be left out of the excitement that has to do with the wolfwere and his pups?" He looked down at the wolfwere on the ground and reached out a foot as if he would prod him. "Of course not."

"Don't _touch _him."

Harry was surprised by the deadly quiet with which he spoke, and especially the way that Malfoy looked at him and the way his eyes widened. He pulled his foot back and stepped away with his hands in the air, as though he had been about to use them instead. Harry took his hand off his wand, but not his eyes off Malfoy.

"He hasn't done anything to you," he said quietly. "Don't you harm him."

Malfoy's face twisted as he watched. "I wish someone would do that for me," he whispered, once again speaking to Harry as though they were the only ones there. "That someone would fight _for me_, that someone would care if _I _was Stunned and lying on the ground. No one does."

Harry blinked. Malfoy had a lot of force behind _his _words, too, and the way his gaze gripped Harry's made it hard to turn away from. Because he was surprised, and because he was stupid, Harry found himself fumbling for words.

"Your parents must. Of course they do. I saw how much they loved you during the Battle of Hogwarts."

"And what can they do?" Malfoy shook his head, his hair whipping around. "_Nothing_, not when they're still under suspicion even though they were acquitted and the Ministry is still looking for any excuse it can find to take their wealth away. I have to be the one who takes care of them, the one who tells them how strong and fine I am with every owl, because they can't take care of me."

Harry hadn't considered that. He hesitated, reminded himself again that Professor Klein was listening to all of this, and said, "Well, I'll try to fight for you. But you can't go around kicking other people who never did anything to you."

Malfoy lifted his head. "But you won't interfere if I fight your enemies? At your side?"

"As long as you don't stab me in the back."

Harry thought he might get upset when Harry said that, or just angry. Malfoy didn't move, though, as if Harry had made some remarkably clever observation instead of speaking plain truth. His eyes widened, and Harry could hear his breath whistling in and out of his lungs. It sounded like they were punctured. Harry shifted in place and resisted the temptation to reach out and snap his fingers in front of Malfoy's face, or cast a diagnostic charm that would tell him if the git was sick.

"You'd let me," Malfoy said, and no more.

"Yeah, I would," Harry said. "Do you care about that?" If Malfoy had some issue with his wording, it would be better if they had it out here and now, before they went into the deeper part of the Forest and might have to depend on each other for survival.

"I care," Malfoy said. "It's more than anyone else has given me in the last four months."

Harry cleared his throat. Then he coughed, because clearing his throat hadn't got rid of the weird feeling creeping up on him. "That's not true," he said. "Your parents—"

Malfoy glared at him, and Harry reminded himself of what Malfoy had just said about having to be the strong one for his parents, instead of the other way around. Harry would have thought they had still given Malfoy companionship and a reason to live, but, well, perhaps not. He nodded instead and said, "Fine. Come on."

He turned around, and found Professor Klein standing there, shaking her head as though she was very sad about something. Harry stepped up and glared at her. "What?"

Klein sighed. "Only this. We are not going on an adventure. This is not one of Beedle the Bard's tales, where frightening things happen to characters very away and in another time. Mr. Malfoy could find himself fighting those whom only a few months ago he fought beside. For various reasons, this is not a good idea."

"But you would let me come with you?" Harry demanded.

"You just Disarmed me," Klein said. "I am not so sure about Mr. Malfoy's prowess."

Harry started to turn back, wanting to ask Malfoy if he minded casting a spell, and Malfoy had his wand drawn. Harry tensed instinctively, but Malfoy only traced what looked like a lazy figure eight in the air and murmured an unfamiliar incantation.

Harry found himself standing at the edge of an abyss. Below his feet, the earth crumbled away, dropping into a pit that flashed with lightning somewhere down near the bottom, in the darkness. Harry shuddered and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself. He could hear himself breathing, so fast that it sounded like a rabbit's, or like the breaths Malfoy had been taking a few minutes ago.

Down there in the darkness, something stirred.

Something was looking for him.

Harry couldn't say where the conviction came from, but it was instant and total and seized possession of his whole mind. He couldn't move, and he didn't _want _to. Tears dripped down his face and covered his cheeks. His skin quivered, and he could feel a threatening pain in his stomach that made it seem like his bladder was about to let go. He knew instinctively he couldn't meet that monster and survive.

"_Finite Incantatem!_"

The vision vanished. Harry opened his eyes and found himself back in the Forest, next to the stirring wolfwere. He knelt down and laid his hand gently on the creature's head, using that posture to avoid looking Malfoy in the eyes.

"Dark Arts," Klein said, and her voice grated like Harry's shame. "Proving yourself skilled in the use of the Dark Arts is not enough to convince me to let you accompany us, Mr. Malfoy."

"That wasn't Dark Arts," Malfoy said, and his voice sounded more calm and confident than Harry would have thought it would after a scolding like that, from a woman he didn't want to anger. She was an Auror, after all, Harry thought, shaking his head so that he could get the dizzy, swimming feeling out of it. She could take Malfoy right back to prison, if she wanted to. "That was a simple illusion."

"And the feeling of fear?" Klein asked softly.

Too softly. Harry had heard Bellatrix Lestrange talk like that, and Voldemort, although mostly in the visions and not in real life. For some reason, he'd done a lot of shouting when Harry was around. Harry forced himself to his feet, gave the wolfwere a glance so that he would know to stay still and they'd speak in a minute, and then stepped between Malfoy and Klein before Klein could come any closer.

"It was," he told her. "I would be feeling a lot worse than that if it was Dark Arts."

Klein's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Magical allergies," Harry said. At least, that was what the wizards at St. Mungo's had told him, when he collapsed after the final battle with a headache so severe it seemed to punch through his skull and legs that wobbled so badly he couldn't stand on them. "Most people never get a dose of Dark Arts until later in life, and so they aren't as bothered by the spells themselves. But the Healers reckoned that since I had the Killing Curse cast on me when I was a baby, and my mum made sure I survived it, I have some kind of reaction to them. They don't always take me badly, but I definitely get a headache. And I don't have a headache because of Malfoy's spell."

"You look queer, Potter." Klein's hand tightened on her wand. "Are you sure about that headache?"

"It's not headache, it's vertigo," Harry snapped back. "_You_ try standing on the edge of an abyss and thinking that something is going to come out of it and pop you out of your skin like a peanut."

"I was there, a moment ago," Klein said. "But permit me to stay that you have quite a flare for metaphor, Mr. Potter."

"Simile," muttered Malfoy, uncontrollably. Harry wondered how in the world _he _had managed to acquire a better sense of when it was better to nod and smile along with a person in authority, and reached back to pinch the git's arm. Malfoy yelped.

Klein stared at him, and then sighed. "We are wasting time," she said. "No one has been back here recently, but they may have returned—and they _will_, if they have heard our noise and suspect there is a chance of capturing our Mr. Potter." Harry, turning around to check on the wolfwere, caught a glimpse of Malfoy's face, and saw that for some reason it looked pleased. Probably because he anticipated Klein's next words. "Since you are both here, and I suspect the Headmistress would not like me to use Memory Charms on her students, we will continue. Mr. Malfoy, if you use any other spell on me that I _suspect _of being Dark Arts, I will Body-Bind you first and ask questions later." She pivoted and stalked into the Forest.

"Who are the ones who did this?"

The wolfwere was on all fours next to the bodies of his pups, his nose buried in them. Harry winced and knelt down next to him, ashamed of having forgotten about him for a moment. "People who we've hunted before," he said quietly, stretching the word _we _about as far as it would go to include Malfoy. "Somewhere in the Forest. Dark wizards. Would you know where they might have a den?"

The wolfwere lifted his head. His face was calm—or maybe it was just that Harry couldn't read it very well—but his teeth were showing.

"There is a place we smelled them once in the last fortnight," he said. "I will lead you there." He broke into a lope and entered the shadows, more or less in the same direction Klein was going. Harry sighed with relief and followed him, and heard Malfoy following _him_.

"You're trusting him?"

And that would be Malfoy, not the wolfwere, though from the way his ears twitched backwards, Harry was sure the wolfwere was perfectly aware of what they were saying. He stifled his sigh and answered as briefly as he could. "Yes, Malfoy. Why not? He found me in his territory, and he could have killed me. He was the one who asked for my help instead." He swallowed, and felt the anger moving at the bottom of his stomach for the first time since Voldemort died. It was hot and sweet, like the spiced Firewhisky Mrs. Weasley had given him when he got out of hospital after treatment for his Dark Arts allergy. "They killed his pups. Babies."

"But he's a magical creature," Malfoy insisted, his hand on Harry's shoulder as if he needed help getting through the darkness despite the lights on their wands. Well, maybe he did. "And an unusual one. He has no reason to trust or work with humans."

"I think he's working pretty well with us right now," Harry pointed out. The wolfwere had drawn level with Klein, and said something to her. She paused for a moment, then nodded and followed him. He slid down a small hill, and Harry prepared to do the same thing, although he knew he would make much more noise when he did. "He's leading us to our enemies."

Malfoy said nothing, but made a discontented humming noise under his breath. Then he changed the subject, and Harry again thought how differently he was acting in the Forest as opposed to the school. _Could someone paying attention to him really revive him that much? I should try it more when we get back to Hogwarts. _"I was following you."

"Yeah," Harry said, and kept the contempt out of his voice with an effort. "I, uh, know that by now."

"I _mean_," Malfoy said, and suddenly he was leaning a lot nearer, almost looming now, "I was following you long enough to notice some of the ingredients you were gathering. Why in the world would _you_ need ingredients for a Resurrection Potion, Potter? You've got coming back from the dead down to an artform."

Harry stared into the darkness and breathed slowly for a moment, so slowly that both Klein and the wolfwere glanced back. Malfoy, of course, had taken his hand from Harry's shoulder by then and was walking along with big, bright eyes trained on the Forest ahead. Klein and the wolfwere turned back, and Harry made his decision.

If there was anyone Snape would trust with the secret of this potion, it was Malfoy. Malfoy had been his darling little pet and probably the best Potions student in the classes Snape taught. But Snape hadn't said that Harry could tell anyone, and he hadn't mentioned Malfoy as an exception. Harry would have to visit Snape again, and ask, and see if he could get permission to tell the git.

Who would probably be intolerable until Harry _did _have permission, asking and hinting and sniffing around. But, well, tough.

"Well?" Malfoy pressed, and his voice had claws in it, sharper than the wolfwere's.

Harry sighed. "It's for someone else," he said. "Someone I can't tell you about, because they don't trust anyone." _Not that Snape really trusts me, but he trusts some points of my character. _"I'll have to ask them if I can tell."

They walked along in silence for a minute or so, while Malfoy turned that over in his mind. Then he said, "Not good enough."

"Not _good _enough?" Harry demanded, lowering his voice just in time from a yowl to a hiss of outrage so Klein and the wolfwere wouldn't take an interest in the conversation. "What the fuck do you _mean_, not good enough?"

"I mean," Malfoy said, his voice so thick with what Harry suspected was delight that he wanted to punch him, "that I heard what you were saying to yourself before I revealed myself to you."

"You mean, stumbled into sight," Harry muttered, and kept an eye on Klein and the wolfwere. They hadn't stopped and started listening behind them yet, but they could do that any minute.

"We shall agree to disagree on the means of my entrance, shan't we?" Malfoy said pleasantly, with an undercurrent in his voice that said they had _better _agree on that. "But what I meant, Potter, is simple enough. I have material to blackmail you, and simply knowing who you want the Resurrection Potion for isn't good enough, not when it might not be information that matters to me. I want you to do something for me."

Harry kept his gaze straight ahead for a few minutes, not so much because he was worried about Klein and the wolfwere as because he had to. Then he said, "I'm researching the spell that made your friends turn against you for you. I told you that I thought you were important enough to pay attention to. And you want _more _than that? Fuck you, Malfoy."

"What?" Malfoy sounded startled.

Harry turned around to confront him, keeping his voice low enough that neither Klein nor the wolfwere should take alarm. "Go ahead and tell people I was sneaking around the Forest after midnight. No one will believe that I really want to brew this Resurrection Potion, which I've never heard of, except maybe Slughorn. Everyone else sensible knows I don't have a trace of Potions ability. And meanwhile, I'll just try again. I have resources available to me that you can't imagine, Malfoy, thanks to my name." He watched Malfoy grimace as though he had bitten into rotten fruit, and nodded at him. "Yes, I know you don't like thinking about that, and about how much your own name is diminished. Too fucking bad. You can tell on me. Go ahead. But I won't give you the power to blackmail me."

He turned around again and marched through the fallen leaves with immense dignity—even though part of him, in the back of his mind, was laughing at that, and at the words he'd said to Malfoy. Sure, Malfoy would tell on him, and then he'd be reduced to getting the ingredients for Snape's potion by owl order. A fine sight _that _would be.

But he really didn't care, he realized as he began to cool down a bit. That was the beauty of it. He would do this if he had to, because he had promised Snape. And he was _never _going to allow someone to blackmail him. If it happened once, other people would do it again, and again, and he would never be free. Not when he was a celebrity the way he was.

"Potter," Malfoy began behind him, in what sounded like a more reconciled tone.

Klein said, in a voice that made it clear she expected to be obeyed instantly no matter what other people were thinking about at the time, "_Down_."

Harry dropped to the ground and rolled, getting his wand out from under him. He kicked Malfoy's leg, because the git was crouching but not far enough, and made him fall over.

A good thing, too, as the night came alive with vivid green shooting stars, at about head-height.


	9. Shooting Stars

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Nine—Shooting Stars_

Harry cast a spell that would create a Shield Charm around Malfoy, which would move with him and should keep up with his movements as long as he didn't actually cast a _Finite_, and then started studying the spells there enemies were shooting at them. Green stars, down to a star-shape in the front and a trailing tail behind, like a comet. They hissed where they landed, and burned the earth. Where had he seen spells like that before?

It came to him in a flash that was a lot like the flash of a star itself. When he and Hermione and Ron had hunted through the Black library last year for mentions of Horcruxes, he had seen an illustration of this spell. One hitting you would just burn you, but enough of them could melt flesh and bone or mean that you had to cut off a limb. They were Dark magic.

Well, Harry was going to make sure no one had to go through _that_. The book had mentioned a counterspell, and although it hadn't explained it very well, Harry had figured it out on his own. He stood up, spinning his wand between his hands, and shouted out, "_Protego Maximus!_"

The air around him shuddered and made a weird sound, as though it was a gong someone had struck. Harry grinned and threw his head back as the magic poured out of him, forming an almost solid wall in the air. He _lived _for moments like these, and the great things that he could with magic when they happened.

The air turned transparent but softly shimmering in front of them, and Harry knew the shield was up. They could cast around it, as Klein was doing with easy stabs of her wand, but it would protect them from any of the shooting stars that tried to land on them. Harry nodded, satisfied, and turned to see what Malfoy was doing.

Malfoy was sitting on the ground, his mouth open as he stared at Harry. Harry held out a hand to help him up.

Malfoy shouted and pulled him down instead. Harry started struggling, sure for a moment that Malfoy meant to kill him the way Klein had seemed worried he would.

Then he realized the light of a different kind of spell was crashing past him, a bright red curse that drilled into the ground and dug a little hole as he watched. Harry swallowed. He could envision the way that curse would have dug a hole into his back, too, but it wasn't something he _wanted _to imagine.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly to Malfoy, and pushed his glasses up his nose as he rose back to one knee and looked around for the wolfwere. He was gone. He had probably already bounded into the clearing past the barrier of tall grass that surrounded it, Harry thought. And he _could _hear snarling.

While it was understandable that the wolfwere would want to destroy the people who had destroyed his pups, Harry didn't want him to die, too. He grabbed his wand and plunged forwards, noting gratefully that the shield he'd cast against the Shooting Stars came with him. It would have been embarrassing to walk past those spells, confident in the knowledge he was protected, and then have one kill him.

The clearing was full of brilliant light, a fire big enough to be called a bonfire burning in the center of it, and Harry had to squint and duck his head until his sight adjusted. He did catch a glimpse of a tall witch in a long dark robe aiming her wand at the wolfwere, who was growling and ripping up the leg of an overweight wizard, and Disarmed her fast enough that she cried out and clutched her hand.

Then she turned and saw him, and her eyes narrowed. Harry didn't recognize her, even though she wore no mask, but he saw dark eyes and long dark hair.

_Like Bellatrix's, _he had time to think, and then it was as if instincts took over.

He cast a Tripping Jinx that tightened an invisible rope around her foot and pulled her to the ground, towards him. As she came rushing towards him, Harry leaped over her and then whirled and kicked up a fold of her cloak, using it to deflect a bright yellow cloud of magic that darted at him from another Death Eater's wand. Yes, these were Death Eaters, he saw as he cast a Stunner that should make the witch sleep for a little while, because he recognized the heavy man in front of him with a Dark Mark spilling out from under his sleeve.

Walden Macnair.

Macnair saw him and let his mouth gape wide in a snarl that Harry thought Fenrir Greyback would have trouble matching. The wolfwere, from the sound of it, was doing his best, though. Harry half-bowed to Macnair and cast a spell that made the ground vibrate and sway under him, dropping him to one knee.

It seemed Macnair didn't mind being down there, though, because he cast a spell that was meant to dislocate Harry's kneecap. Harry stepped to the side, and it just barely went past him. He sprinted towards Macnair, who grinned again and hopped back to his feet.

"Yes, that's right," Macnair said, his voice low but a rumble so deep that it still seemed to fill the whole clearing. "Let's see how you do when you face a _real _man, one-on-one and hand-to-hand."

But Harry had no intention of wrestling with Macnair; he knew the man was a lot stronger than him. Instead, he smiled back at him and whispered the spell that Snape would probably be annoyed to know he remembered. "_Levicorpus._"

Macnair's wand went flying as the spell jerked his body into the air. Harry Summoned it before one of the other Death Eaters—there were five others in the clearing, besides the man struggling with the wolfwere—could have the bright idea of taking it. Then he spun his wand and cast a special nonverbal incantation that he had mostly used this summer for helping to dry Mrs. Weasley's laundry.

Macnair flew in a circle, his arms sticking out and his voice calling in a weird echo as he spun. His head hit a tree, and then it sagged on his neck, his arms doing the same thing at the same time. Harry smiled, a savage gladness in his heart, and then cast _Finite _to end Snape's spell. Macnair crashed to the ground, falling so heavily Harry reckoned he'd probably done more damage to him. But he had no time to worry about that.

One of the other wizards was coming at him, and Harry was sure it was one of the Lestrange brothers, although which one, he didn't know. And right behind him was a cringing little bastard with a thin moustache who reminded Harry of Pettigrew. He grinned and stepped forwards. He hadn't got his revenge on Bellatrix for killing Sirius, but her husband or her brother-in-law would do.

"_Fuga!_" he roared, this time calling on a spell that he'd found in their Defense textbook for last year. He wondered for a moment whether Klein would be proud of him for knowing about it, since she preferred not to teach out of a book, or not.

Both the Lestrange and the thin wizard quivered to a stop and stood staring at him for a minute. Then they turned their heads to the side and stared at each other.

Both of them leaped in the air at the same time, dropping their wands. They didn't bother picking them up, either, but ran madly away towards the far side of the clearing. Harry smirked and didn't bother pursuing them. That spell caused uncontrollable fear, and the direction they were going, they would be easy prey for Klein.

The three Death Eaters left were spreading out to face him in a wavery line, but the wolfwere jumped on the shoulders of the nearest one and dragged him to the ground, biting so sharply on the back of his neck that it looked like he'd be decapitated. Harry ignored that one and focused on the two others.

One was the other Lestrange brother, he was sure, just from the way he stared at Harry and started gabbling about Bellatrix. Harry wasn't going to listen to him, not when he knew the Death Eater wouldn't be so obliging as to tell him their plans. He focused on the other one instead, the quiet, arrogant witch with the tossed-back head and silver hair that almost made Harry think she was Narcissa Malfoy for a second.

He didn't know her, and she didn't give him time to ask who she was, either. She aimed her wand at him, and a spell like the one Malfoy had cast in the woods seized hold of Harry, making him see things as if he was somewhere else.

He was standing in an immense cage, made of silver and iron, and it was up on a dais, and in front of him was a huge crowd. He thought he could see his friends in the crowd, and the Weasleys, and the professors at Hogwarts. Skeeter was in front of everyone, rapping her Quick-Quotes Quill against a scroll and smiling at him smugly.

"Isn't it true, Harry Potter," Skeeter said, rolling all the words as though she wanted everyone on the furthest fringes of the crowd to hear her, "that you committed crimes during the war, by using the Unforgivable Curses against people?" She paused, but didn't give him long enough to answer before she went on, "Of course, you would probably say they were Death Eaters. But do you know what happens to people who use—Unforgivable Curses?" She lowered her voice this time.

"They go to _Azkaban!_" the entire room chorused.

Harry felt ill for a moment. No. He didn't think he could survive Azkaban, not when they would probably have Dementors nearby. And he didn't have an Animagus form, like Sirius did, to keep himself safe during the times when they were trying to drain his happy memories. He would sit in a cell for years and hear nothing but the screaming of his mother, see nothing but that flash of green light every time he closed his eyes—

Something painful hit his leg, and Harry suddenly remembered the Death Eaters in the clearing and knew there was no way that he could have got from there to this cage in front of everyone he knew.

_This is an illusion!_

Harry's rage flared up and cut through the spell, which he thought was probably meant to make him face his greatest fear or something, and he found himself crouching on his right leg, where blood streamed, as the silver-haired witch stepped forwards again. Harry focused on her and chose his spell before he thought about it. "_Sectumsempra!_"

Blood flew everywhere, and she fell backwards. That was all Harry knew before he focused on the Lestrange brother—

Who turned and fled into the Forest. Harry tried to jump up and go after him, but his weak leg gave way beneath him and crumpled. He bowed his head into his hands and swore for a second, then leaned back and tried to see how bad the wound on his leg was.

It looked deep, deep enough that he could catch flashing glimpses of bone and some of what he saw looked like muscle instead of just skin. Harry winced and used a few convenient healing charms he'd learned that summer to stop the bleeding and ease the pain. He wasn't sure what else he could do, what was _good _for a cut this deep, until he got back to Madam Pomfrey.

"You did it."

Harry blinked and looked up. He half-expected to see Klein there, scolding him for killing someone instead of capturing them. Harry didn't know for sure that he'd killed the witch, but he'd seen his curse catch her in the throat. He pretty much doubted she was still alive.

Malfoy was there instead, staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. He shook his head.

"You Stunned Humble," he said. "And Macnair, in less conventional ways. You got rid of Rabastan and Avery, and you killed Salgrass, and Rodolphus ran away rather than face you. You did all that in less than three minutes. Exactly what _else _can you do?"

Harry shrugged. "Was it less than three minutes?" he asked, and looked around the clearing to make sure that all the Death Eaters still remaining were down. The wolfwere had chewed into the leg of the first one he'd attacked, Harry saw, and chewed _off _the head of the other. He turned away with a little wince, shaking his head. He had to remember that he had just killed someone, too, and with no more thought than he had employed when he used the curse on Malfoy, even though he knew what it did now.

Klein walked through the tall grass then, the Death Eaters Harry had sent fleeing towards her floating bound and unconscious behind her. She looked at Harry expressionlessly, then turned towards the bloody body on the ground.

"Even some Aurors could not do that," she said. "Use that many spells so effortlessly, all in a row, and then use another spell that killed someone." She turned to face Harry, planting her body there as if she assumed she would need to shield someone from him. "Did you consider it? Do you feel badly for having taken a life?"

"A _Death Eater _life."

Harry blinked. Malfoy had turned to face Klein, and you'd have thought that Harry never used a spell Malfoy must have had bad memories of. His face was crimped, and his hands were clenched in front of him as though he was going to drum out a rhythm on someone.

"He killed her because she was trying to kill him," Malfoy continued. "I saw the spell she used on him. It was a variant of the one I used on you before we came here, one that calls up fear. She would have killed him if he'd remained in thrall to it much longer. And you think he should be _sorry _he killed the bitch?"

"There is a difference," Klein said, voice still without much tone or inflection, "between killing someone in self-defense, and killing someone and then turning away to go after others, the way Mr. Potter did." She looked back at Harry. "You don't have the training to kill someone like that."

"I did it, whether I have the training or not," Harry said. He shivered. Even though it really shouldn't have when he'd been running around and flinging spells, he could feel weariness creeping up on him. Well, it was after three in the morning and he was in the middle of a cold, dark Forest, and he thought he'd felt a drop of rainwater sliding down his back. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean," Klein said quietly, "that you don't have the training to cope with the consequences of taking a life. This is not how I would have wished you to discover it, so young."

Harry blinked and stared at her. Then he said, "But I killed Voldemort. Aren't you concerned about that, too, that I might not have the training to deal with _that_?"

"No," said Klein. "Because you did not kill him in the traditional way. You did not have to see his blood flow. The contest between you was settled by other means." She stared at Harry, and although he tried to hold her gaze, in the end Harry had to drop his eyes. There was something _commanding _about her, something that made the excuses that he tried to marshal in his mind seem trivial. "I do not like that, Harry Potter. I do not like that at all."

"Then look the other way," Malfoy said, and his voice was a harsh trumpet-sound, as though he was commanding an army on the opposite side of whatever battle Klein was fighting. "You were the one who let us follow you. What did you expect us to do, if not join the fight and kill someone?"

"To hold back and hold still, the way _you_ did, Mr. Malfoy," Klein said, and Harry didn't think she saw how deeply her words cut Malfoy's pride, the way he did. "Or at least to capture the Death Eaters, the way Mr. Potter did at first. Living informants are more valuable to us than the dead." Again she turned back to Harry, and again her eyes sliced at the arguments and defenses he could have raised. "We will need to report this to the Head Auror, as well as the Headmistress."

_Which will mean more attention from the newspapers, and more people prying into my life, _Harry silently completed the sentence. But he knew what Klein would say if he repeated that aloud. She would say that he should have thought more deeply before killing someone, if he didn't like the consequences.

"You do that," Malfoy said, his eyes still narrowed and his body still vibrating. He looked like Aunt Marge's dog, Ripper, did sometimes moments before he rushed Harry. "But you remember I'm probably alive because of him." He took a step back towards Harry and looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

Harry gave him a weak smile back. He was glad that someone in the clearing didn't think he was a monster, but it was hard to know what he would do with the approval. He couldn't prevent Klein from telling anyone about this that she liked, and the testimony of an adult, and an Auror at that, would overrule what Malfoy said.

"Come with me," Klein said abruptly, and began to bind and float Macnair and the first woman Harry had brought down; he thought Malfoy had called her Humble. Harry looked around for the wolfwere. He hadn't seen him for a few minutes and thought he might have faded back into the Forest, satisfied at the vengeance for his pups.

No, there was a ripple of silver light at the other side of the clearing, in the direction that the last Lestrange brother had fled, and the wolfwere trotted out, loping towards Harry. He spoke quietly before he was halfway there. "The others will escape, if you do not hurry," he said. "Why are you waiting?"

Klein turned around with a frown. "Because we have enough people to try," she said. "We thank you for your help, and think the best thing for you to do would be to return to the rest of your family in the Forest."

The wolfwere stared at her with great and gleaming eyes, then said, "I was not speaking to you." He turned his shoulder towards Klein and faced Harry again, his head half-bowed and his teeth showing. "You will come with me?"

"Some other night," Harry said, thinking about how much trouble he was going to be in, and what McGonagall would likely say, and the ingredients he somehow had to collect for Snape and the research he somehow had to do for Malfoy. "I have things to do right now. Did you find the ones who had harmed your pups?"

"Many of them might have," the wolfwere said, and sat back on his haunches, closing his eyes as if he wanted to dim their glow. "Most of them might have. I have killed two of them. It is not enough." He looked at the floating bodies gathered behind Klein.

Klein said nothing, but shifted as if she assumed that she would need to get between the Death Eaters and a crazed wolfwere.

Harry sighed. It seemed he was going to have to intervene, then. "I'll come back another time and help you look," he said. "And I'll tell you if any of these say anything about harming your pups."

He could feel Klein's expression changing even though he wasn't looking at her. "And what makes you assume, Potter," she murmured, "that you will be allowed to sit in on the interrogations?"

Malfoy made a muffled sound. Harry ignored him _and _Klein. Right now, the wolfwere was the most important. If he had to pick and choose who to talk and listen to at any point in time, well, so be it. He bent down so he was meeting those glowing eyes when they popped open again. "Is that acceptable?" he asked quietly. "To know that you will have the ability to learn more about the fate of your pups when we question these people?"

The wolfwere's jaws worked around invisible words for a moment. Then he said, "You are the only one who has offered me anything. I will say yes." And he turned and loped into the woods so quickly and quietly that Harry thought he could have tracked him for a week and not found anything.

A heavy silence settled on the clearing. Klein broke it with a harsh cough and by turning her back for her own march into the woods. "Let us get back," she said.

She perhaps thought Harry ought to be chastened. Harry wasn't. He moved after her thinking—about the way he had killed Salgrass, and the way that Malfoy had stood up for him, and the expression in Klein's eyes as she looked at him, and the wolfwere.

And Death Eaters so close to Hogwarts. Couldn't forget about those, either. Harry wondered if their presence here meant they were hunting him, or that the Forbidden Forest was a place they thought no one would look for them.

_Will I even be allowed to know? _Klein had said that he might not sit in on the interrogations, which was worrying in and of itself. He might not know enough information to give the wolfwere, but he also might not know enough to protect _himself._

"Potter."

Harry gave a distracted nod at Malfoy. He tested the resolve growing in him, and it was steely. Well. All right, then. Klein and maybe McGonagall and maybe the other Aurors might want to keep him away from this, for his own "safety," but there were ways Harry could insist on knowing. Influences he could employ, the same way he _could _owl-order Snape's ingredients, if he really wanted to. He didn't want to use them, but he would, rather than just forget about this and accept the protection of adults.

He had killed tonight. Klein seemed to feel that should change him. Therefore, Harry would make sure it did.

"_Potter_."

"Yeah, Malfoy?" Harry asked, and turned to face him when he realized Malfoy's grip on his arm was tight, not letting go. Malfoy leaned towards him, and his eyes were wide and anxious. Harry smiled a little. "Worried Klein might report you followed us? I don't think it's you she's angry at."

"No, you idiot," Malfoy said, and there was the flash of the boy—man?—Harry knew again, rather than the sullen and naïve idiot he'd acted like in school. "I'm worried you won't accept my help."

Harry blinked. "I thought you wanted to blackmail me, not help me."

"You changed that," Malfoy said simply. "The way you killed in the clearing, Potter. I know now you can help me, that you have more determination than I reckoned on and that you can actually _protect _me if the Death Eaters showed up again, or from my friends. That makes you a worthy ally. Someone worthy of my help."

Harry stared so hard that he nearly walked into a tree. Then he shook his head and blinked. "You have some bloody weird standards, Malfoy."

Malfoy inclined his head and seemed to take the compliment on the chin. "Thank you. Now. Will you _let _me help?"

Harry looked ahead again at Klein. He thought about the wolfwere, who might not get justice. He thought about Snape, who might give him permission to bring Malfoy in on the secret.

He thought about himself, who might lose the chance, _again_, to know what he should know and protect himself, even though Dumbledore was dead.

He held out his hand to Malfoy. "Yes. Thank you."

Malfoy's smile was wider, and deeper, than Harry had ever thought it could be. And his grasp was firmer and warmer.


	10. Dancing With the Consequences

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Ten-Dancing with the Consequences_

"There is something I do not understand in all this," McGonagall said quietly, when the chaos of their conflicting stories had died out, and even Malfoy had found something to say to the Headmistress. "Why were you in the Forbidden Forest in the first place, Mr. Potter?"

Harry lifted his head and straightened his shoulders. He had known he would have to account for that, and he had used the time while Klein was telling her story-and insisting that Harry and Malfoy be punished-and Malfoy was telling his-and insisting he had done nothing wrong-to prepare the confession that he thought would serve his purposes best.

"I wanted to go there to get away from it for a little while," he said quietly. "All the staring, all the gasping, all the fucking _attention_." He lowered his head and stared bitterly at his feet.

"Language!" Klein and McGonagall said at the same time, like twin echoes, but only the Headmistress went on, and her voice was more sympathetic than it had been. "The attention, Mr. Potter?"

Harry let his head bob up and down, and gritted his teeth in his jaw as though he was fighting back a wave of-something. Let them mistake it for panic, or tears, or something else. They would be close to right, anyway. Harry _was _tired of that side to his life at the moment, although he had managed to ignore it with so many more pressing things to think about.

"Why should there have to be stronger wards on the school to keep reporters from coming in, just because of me?" he whispered. "Why should all the other students have to report strangers on the grounds, just because one of them might want my autograph, or to talk to me, or something like that? Why should so many first-years be terrified with stories of what I'll do to them?" He looked up, at Klein. "Why should Professor Klein be harassed with rumors about how I could teach Defense better than she could, when there's no proof that's true?"

The way Klein's jaw set let Harry know his guess had been right, although he hadn't personally heard anyone complaining about that, except for little mutters from Ron over his essays. He turned away and stared at the far wall.

Malfoy shifted in the chair beside him, but made no comment. _He probably doesn't believe that I'd rather be without the attention, _Harry thought, counting the books on the shelves in the moments before McGonagall answered. _He won't believe that trouble just finds me._

"I-apologize, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said stiffly. "I had not realized the atmosphere at Hogwarts was so stifling for you."

Malfoy snorted, and Harry half-nodded to himself. Yes, that would be the sound Malfoy made right before he unleashed a torrent of criticism and doubt. There was no way that he would ever believe Harry hated the attention unless Harry talked to him long and earnestly about it, and then he would probably still think it was some maneuver or long-range plot of Harry's.

_To do what? _Harry thought, frustrated, in the git's direction. _There's nothing I _want _enough to set up that kind of plot, and I wouldn't be good at it if I tried, anyway._

"But you are a hero, and you killed the monster." McGonagall leaned forwards until Harry reluctantly turned his eyes away from the shelves and fastened them on her face. Her eyes had a soft shine behind her glasses, and she reached out as if she would take his hand. Then, at the last minute, she seemed to remember she was a professor and he was a student in trouble, and pulled the hand back. "That always entails a certain amount of consequences." Her voice cooled. "And not enough to excuse you venturing into the Forest by yourself at night, I'm afraid."

Harry sighed. At least he had managed to convince her, and that meant she might ignore anything Malfoy said about Potions ingredients or Klein hinted at about Darker reasons.

"So she really is an Auror?" he asked, staring at Klein. "She said she was, but after the amount of weird things that have happened around this place, I wasn't sure I should trust her."

Klein's face looked as though she was eating a squirming mouthful of squid. McGonagall hesitated, and Harry felt briefly sorry for her. She was trying to figure out how to deal with a bunch of students who were also war heroes. He knew they didn't make it easy for her.

But he was tired of making it easy for people to ignore him and _keep _him in ignorance, too. They wanted him to be a hero, fine. Heroes had to know about threats so they could protect people from them. Just sitting back and letting other people take care of it, even Aurors, wasn't what he did.

"Yes, _Professor _Klein is an Auror," McGonagall said, in a tone of voice that let Harry know he'd better not forget the title again. "And she has graciously agreed to donate some of her time to the school so that you will be protected."

"From Death Eaters?" Harry asked. "I didn't know they were in the Forest at all."

"From Death Eaters, yes," Klein broke in, apparently tired of being ignored. "And from some of the people you were talking about, the ones who might try to breach the wards and come to you. To duel you, for vengeance, to duel you and prove who is the better-I have heard all those reasons and more when I was studying the documents the Ministry has gathered."

She fell silent abruptly, and Harry saw the swish of McGonagall's sleeve around her arm. He didn't care. He had heard enough to ask the question that hovered behind his lips a moment later.

"What documents?"

McGonagall closed her eyes. Klein lifted her head. "It does not matter," she said, and her voice was one that Harry thought she might have used several times before to make suspects or trainee Aurors shut up and stop asking questions.

But Harry was neither of those right now, and it was seeming extremely unlikely to him that he would ever be a trainee Auror. He didn't want to be like Klein. He bared his teeth and asked again, "What documents?"

"The documents that made me decide to take this case." Klein glared at him. "You needed protection."

"But that doesn't sound like documents you recovered from the Death Eaters," Harry insisted. "Unless they're writing letters to the Ministry talking about how much they'd like to kill me and stuff like that." Come to think of it, he knew some of the Death Eaters were probably crazy enough to do things like that, but he also knew that most of them, such as Bellatrix, were dead or captured.

"Interviews," McGonagall bit out. "The observations of Aurors on the streets, who have listened to rumors and written down what they heard. Pensieve memories from some of the captured Death Eaters. Mr. Potter, you are _severely _out of line."

Harry winced. That had been the tone she would use with him when he turned in an essay late as a sixth-year.

Then he reminded himself of what he was again, and sat up. They wanted him to excuse being a hero, or accept it. Fine, he would, but that would mean accepting _everything,_ including the things they tried to shield him from. "I'm sorry, Headmistress. But I've killed someone tonight, and captured others, and apparently that makes me an adult. I want to know more about what kind of danger I'm in, and what kind of danger my friends are in, and what I can do to stop it."

"Nothing," Klein said. "You are still a child."

"Oh, bollocks," said Malfoy.

"_Mr. Malfoy!_" McGonagall said, apparently less conflicted about how to treat someone who might be of age but wasn't a war hero. "You, also, are severely out of line, and are not being punished only on sufferance-"

"Really?" Malfoy snorted and stood up. He had been sitting for so long that Harry had thought he had no objections to what was happening to them, that he would willingly go through any amount of scolding and upset just to avoid angering McGonagall and Klein further. He ought to have remembered that Malfoy had never really been interested in compromising, unless doing so could make someone more likely to do what he wanted most of all. "We're of age, Potter and I, and the others you invited back this year." Harry hid a smile. He knew from Malfoy's disgusted tone that he was only including the other eighth-years because doing so would deflect a little bit of the criticism from him and Harry. "We just survived a battle against the Death Eaters. What right do you have to keep us out of this?"

"Legal right," Klein said. "You have no legal right to sit in on the interrogations of prisoners I captured."

"I captured two of them," Harry pointed out. "I killed one. By that logic, you ought to release the body and those two prisoners, including Macnair, to me, because I'm the only one who can examine or question them."

Klein gave him a look that would have cut him to the bone not long ago. But this summer had happened, and last year had happened. Harry raised his eyebrows and returned the glance, and Klein turned back to McGonagall.

"Minerva," she said quietly, "I am sorry, but I cannot work under these conditions. Not if the boy I am supposed to be protecting refuses my instructions and goes against my orders."

McGonagall hesitated. Harry watched wheels spinning in her head, and then she nodded. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I hired you as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor first and a bodyguard for Mr. Potter second. You signed a contract that you would retain the post as Defense teacher for at least a year."

Klein blinked and opened her mouth, but didn't say a word. Harry watched her. _She's kind of like Dudley, _he thought. _She isn't used to the rules applying to her instead of other people._

"I-can't do that," she said. "Madam, Headmistress, the Head Auror still holds the right to command my movements, and-"

"He commands you to stay here for right now."

Harry turned around, his eyebrows rising, as the door to the office opened. He had to admit that whoever had said that had a _magnificent _sense of timing, even though he was afraid they also might be someone he needed to oppose in order to take control of his own life back.

The man who stepped inside was one Harry had seen at a few trials this summer, but he hadn't known his name. He had a long grey beard that he wore tucked inside his belt, and Auror robes that had patches and darns on them in more than a few places. His eyes were green, and when he glanced at Harry, Harry thought he was amused. Well, that was better than some of the other things he could have looked at the moment, even if Harry probably _would _still need to fight him.

"Head Auror Olversvald," Klein said stiffly. "I assure you I _cannot _work like this."

"I did always think this arrangement should have been public," Olversvald remarked to the air, and turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, now that you know who Professor Klein really is, can you work with her so as not to make her job impossible?"

"What, like wandering off into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night?" Harry asked. He was studying Olversvald, and he had decided he might not need to fight him after all. He looked more like Dumbledore than anyone Harry had met since Dumbledore died.

"Yes, like that," Olversvald agreed. "And in the meantime, she'll do things like let you sit in on the interrogation of Death Eaters, if you want to, or she can give you extra training. None of us wants you to die."

"I'd disagree with that," Malfoy said next to his ear, more breath than words. Harry knew without looking that he was staring at Klein.

"Well," Harry said, "I'll think about it. But there are times I do just need to be alone, and I can't always think about the Auror who might be trailing me, you know?" No way was he letting Klein interfere with his taking care of Malfoy or the wolfwere or Snape. These were people who had asked for his help, and he could give it and he wanted to give it. There was really nothing in the world more important than that.

"Now that you know about her, can you take her into account?" Olversvald leaned against the wall and ignored the way that Klein was glaring back and forth between him and Harry. "She will, of course, fulfill the terms of her contract to teach, too, Headmistress McGonagall."

"That would be acceptable," McGonagall admitted in what sounded like a grudging tone. Well, Harry couldn't really blame her.

"I'll try," Harry said. "Like I said, I just don't know if I can all the time. Can I go into the Forest during the day?" That might be a way to see the wolfwere and talk to him about his pups if he needed to.

"You can _tell _someone," said Olversvald. "And stay away from the part of the Forest where you helped locate Death Eaters." _At least he's acknowledging that I helped, _Harry thought. "Otherwise, giving permission for a tracking spell might mean the difference between arriving in time to help you and only getting there in time to see you fall."

"We do not _ask permission_ for tracking spells," Klein began in a low but furious voice.

"Sometimes I forget how young you are as an Auror, Matilda," Olversvald said, and only looked at her once.

Harry saw Klein's face go white. But she didn't say anything else, which was good enough for him for right now. He would figure out later whether having someone who hated his guts guarding his back was a good thing.

"Permission for tracking spells granted, sir," he said. He paused, then added, "I just want a normal life. Really. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I want to be able to be alone and go where I like and do what I like without anyone caring."

Malfoy shifted again next to him. This time, Harry didn't know which expression he would be wearing, but he didn't look, either.

"For the moment, we have to care," Olversvald said quietly, and his smile was gone, and he was looking earnestly at Harry, the way Harry thought he would probably look at another adult, so _that _was all right. "I hope, someday, you have the life you crave. At the moment, it is not possible. Do you understand why?"

Harry nodded. Reluctantly, but he nodded. Because he _did _know. McGonagall was right. He was the hero who had killed the monster, and that victory wasn't old enough for people to forget about it yet. They still cared, so he had to play the part of willing hero, or stay behind wards and privacy spells if he didn't want to.

And remember that there were people hunting him. He could forget when he was in the castle. Hogwarts was so safe. But he probably would have to venture outside the castle some of the time, so he could remember.

"All right, sir," he said. "I'll try to work with Professor Klein if she'll work with me." He sneaked a glance at Klein, but since her face was absolutely set and she wasn't looking at him, he didn't know what she was feeling.

"And we _will_ get to learn about the people who want to kill us simply for being in the Forest at the wrong time?" Malfoy demanded, a sharp tone in his voice that Harry wouldn't have dared to use right now. Then again, thinking about it, why not? He had power at his fingertips if he chose to use it, the power of his name and the scar on his forehead.

He simply never wanted to use it.

"No one tried to kill you, Malfoy," Klein said. "You were with us, that was all. Who would care enough about you to want to kill you?"

Harry would have thought that was truth a few minutes ago. An hour ago. A year ago. But it wasn't the truth or falsehood of the statement that made his chest burn, it was the way Malfoy's eyes dulled. He looked like he did when he was taunting Harry in Charms class, not the strong and clear-eyed bloke he'd been in the Forest.

"Don't talk to him like that," Harry said.

He thought he'd yelled it, childishly. But his voice came out deeper than he meant it to, and calmer. And he thought _that _was what made Klein sit back in her chair and rest her hand on her wand, and Olversvald's smile disappear completely for the first time since he'd stepped into the office.

The clear look came back into Malfoy's eyes, though. And next to that, it was really hard to care about anything else.

"Why should I not?" Klein asked, after a moment of rigid silence when Harry had thought someone else, like McGonagall, would interrupt, and she never did. "Why shouldn't I ask what use Malfoy is to us, when he was the one who came after you into the Forest?"

"And I was the one who was in the Forest in the first place, making things hard for you," Harry said. "Don't yell at him for my mistake."

"Gentlemen. Lady." McGonagall clapped her hands sharply. "I think that we have spent quite enough time awake for one night, don't you? We've made a bargain I think should hold. Mr. Potter has agreed to let the Aurors use tracking spells on him and follow him about as necessary. He's agreed to be more cautious." She gave Harry a look that said she would see to the reinforcement of that part of the bargain herself if necessary. Harry just nodded back. "In return, Mr. Potter won't be persecuted for the killing in self-defense he performed tonight, or for going into the Forest, and neither will Mr. Malfoy. And he will be allowed to sit in on the interrogations of the Death Eaters."

"Both of us."

Again, his voice was calmer than Harry had thought it would be, so calm that for a moment he thought Malfoy had said those words. But no, he was the one who was standing up in front of McGonagall and daring her with his eyes to do something about it, and she was the one who bit her lips and turned away and looked unhappy.

"You're not going to allow this, Headmistress, surely?" Klein had no emotion in her voice now, either. But Harry thought it was fair if he reckoned that she was upset. She probably was.

"I don't see that we have a choice," McGonagall said, staring at the far wall. "This is an unusual situation. No, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy should not have been in the Forest." She glanced frowningly over her shoulder at them again. "But what's done is done. They assisted in the capture and felling of several Death Eaters tonight. We owe them for that."

"But," Klein said, and then Olversvald caught her eye and motioned with one lazy hand. She immediately shut up. Harry wondered if he had something more on Klein than just being her boss. If he did, and it was something other people could learn, Harry thought he'd like to have it. There were several times in the past day that he'd found himself wanting to shut Klein up.

"All is settled," McGonagall said, voice firm enough now that Harry thought she'd talked herself into it. She turned around and stared down her nose at Klein. "Unless you wish to object to something about it, of course, Matilda."

Klein didn't need the motion of Olversvald's hand to shut her up this time. She raised her head and shook back her long braid. "No, Headmistress."

"Excellent." McGonagall gestured them towards her office door. "Then let's go to bed, please. I feel the need of some good _sleep _before I meditate any more on the terms of this bargain."

They trooped down the stairs. Olversvald and Klein went in front of them, and although Harry was curious to hear what they'd say to each other, he lingered behind. Malfoy had caught his eye and held it for too long a pause of time for him to do otherwise.

"You fought for me," Malfoy said, when they were riding the moving staircase down.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, catching his eye and frowning at him. Malfoy was looking still clear and not dull and prattish the way he had been most of the time they were in class. That stupid statement was one Harry would have expected to hear from him if he _had _started looking that way again. "I thought it wouldn't surprise you. We're allies, aren't we?"

"I haven't done anything for you yet," Malfoy said, frowning as the staircase deposited them at the bottom door. Harry looked around, almost hoping to catch a glimpse of robe where Klein and Olversvald were vanishing, but didn't see it. _Well, I should probably stay away from them, anyway. _"And yet you're fighting for me all the time." His voice turned sharp. "I need to do something about that. Yes, we're allies, but I never wanted to owe you such a massive debt."

Harry snorted. "I _don't _think you owe me a massive debt, if that helps."

"Of course you wouldn't think that," Malfoy said. "But I'm different. I'm a Malfoy. I know what's owed to someone who fights for you and isn't related to you by blood or bound by a debt already."

"Don't you have any _friends _to teach you what friendship means?" Harry demanded, and remembered too late.

Malfoy's mouth twisted for a second. Then he said, "I think we'd better talk in the morning, Potter. The Headmistress is right that we need to sleep on this." And he stalked away with his arse waggling. If he'd been a cat, Harry thought, his tail would have stood up, all puffed-out fur and offended pride.

Well, he _had _put his foot right in it.

He sighed and walked back to the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room. He'd felt tired when they were coming back through the Forest with their prisoners, but now he recognized the tight, scratching itchiness at the corners of his eyes and knew he wouldn't sleep. He might as well do something useful, like sit up and compose a letter to Snape asking if he would let Harry tell Draco about him.

_Malfoy. His name is still Malfoy, at least until you understand what's going on with him._

And then he might take his Invisibility Cloak and the list of details about the day the spell had been cast that Malfoy'd given him, and see what he could find out about curses that made your friends turn against you.


	11. How Frustrating It Is

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Eleven-How Frustrating It Is_

_No, Potter._

That was all Snape deigned to write on the back of the letter Harry had sent him early that morning about whether he would talk to Draco or whether Harry could even _tell _Draco about the ingredients he was gathering. Harry gritted his teeth and crumpled the page into a small ball, wetting it with milk from his bowl of cornflakes so he wouldn't be tempted to set it on fire.

Bloody sodding Snape. Of course he just wanted to make this as difficult as possible for Harry. Well, Harry would find out a solution to this _himself._ He didn't care how difficult it was. He'd done harder things.

_Is that going to be your mantra your whole bloody life? _his mind asked in a voice that sounded like Hermione. His mind sounded like bloody inappropriate people sometimes, too, Harry thought, given that Hermione was gone to Australia today and not at the table to scold him or inquire about the parchment he was wadding up.

"You all right, mate?"

But Ron was here, and lonely without Hermione right next to him, and Harry should remember that he had people depending on him who were actually _considerate_. He smiled at his best friend and scooped up another spoonful of cornflakes. Ron didn't mind if he ate with his mouth full. "Fine," he said, and sprayed little bits of food everywhere. "Just another one of those requests for an interview I don't want to give."

Ron made a face and contributed by chomping into a scone hard enough to make fluffy crumbs leap across the table. Ginny gave them both an annoyed glance and shifted her book around so she was blocking the path of any flying food. "You'd think they'd realize by now that you aren't interested. What does it take, writing 'I Don't Give Interviews' in capital letters across the sky?"

"How would you do that?" Harry asked, momentarily sidetracked. They'd seen a Muggle aeroplane do that this summer on the telly, but he hadn't realized the image had stuck in Ron's head. "Could you fly something from a broom?"

"Well, there are incantations that can make letters out of smoke and fire." Ron licked honey off his fingers and reached for another scone. "We ought to experiment with them and see if all those reporters waiting beyond the wards can read."

Harry laughed, and he and Ron spent the rest of breakfast planning out ways to make some of the stupid people in Harry's life understand their mistake. By the time they went out to the Pitch to try it, Harry's heart was beating more slowly than it had all night.

_Wolfwere and Snape and Malfoy and Klein and Death Eaters aren't all there is to life. I have to remember that._

* * *

"You haven't made any progress yet?"

Harry sighed and looked up from the book he'd taken out of the Restricted Section to find Malfoy lounging against his library table. The git hadn't approached Harry all afternoon, and when Harry finally found him with a bunch of fifth-year Slytherins who apparently still hero-worshipped him, he'd turned his back and stuck his nose in the air. Harry distrusted that cloudy look in his eyes, too. It was much more "Hogwarts Malfoy" and "taunting Harry about Triad Charms Malfoy" than the clear look he'd seen in the Forest.

"No," Harry said. "There are too many spells that could describe what happened to you, but none that exactly fit the parameters." He tapped the list of details Malfoy had handed him, which was lying next to the book. "Are you sure you remembered everything right?"

"Don't speak of that so loudly," Malfoy hissed, looking over his shoulder and reminding Harry of Moody for a second with the way his head jerked.

"So you _do _think your enemy is at the school," Harry said. "And anyway, you approached me. If someone thinks it's suspicious for us just to be talking, me ignoring you won't help." He leaned forwards. "Do you think the spell could have confused the one who cast it? That would help me narrow down some of the stranger curses I'm finding. Some of them always affect the caster, and some never do. Of course, it might depend on whether it was an incompetent caster in the first place."

"You have to consider," Malfoy said, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer, "that an incompetent _researcher _could affect your findings just as much."

Harry stared at him, feeling his heart bang against his ribs. Then he said, "Fuck you, Malfoy," stood up, bundled the book back into its place on the shelves, snatched up the list, and stalked out of the library.

Malfoy followed him, his footsteps so quick Harry thought he was worried about pursuit. Well, that didn't make Harry any more sympathetic. Maybe Malfoy couldn't help him, and maybe he _was _worried about other people finding out that he'd enlisted Harry's help, but in that case the least he could do was stay away and let Harry get on with the business without any insults.

"You don't understand anything," Malfoy muttered to his back.

_At least that sounded almost normal, _Harry thought, and swung around to snarl at Malfoy, who started back while raising one hand as though to protect his throat against a bite or a punch. "No, I can't, not when you don't tell me," he said. "And I don't see anyone around right now. Is your enemy spying on us through the portraits or something? What is it that's such a big deal you can't tell me?"

Malfoy's lips twisted up together, and he shook his head. "I should have known you wouldn't understand, Potter," he said, and made a grab for the list that still hung in Harry's hand. "Give me that back. I'll find someone who can _look_ at what I wrote and _tell _what I meant."

Harry was still the better Seeker, and he managed to rescue the list before it fell victim to Malfoy's grabby hands. He shook his head in exasperation and moved out of the way when Malfoy tried to take it again. "Look, will you give me a clue? You were saying you wanted to ally with me only last night. Now you're acting as though nothing could be further from your mind. I don't know what's causing the differences, but I wish you'd fucking _tell _me."

Malfoy jerked to a stop and stared at him with subtly gleaming eyes. Then he said, "By the time you figure it out, it'll be too late. I shouldn't have made that effort to ally with you. It's useless." And he turned his back and marched away, looking like nothing so much as a clockwork Muggle toy.

Harry used one hand to tug on his hair until his eyes were watering, then marched away himself, heading for the Owlery. There were plenty of school-owls he could use, and they were actually the better choice, since so many of them came and went each day that the reporters would have a harder time intercepting his letters than if he used some distinctive bird.

He was going to start owl-ordering Snape's blasted ingredients. At least that would give him the sense of _something _getting accomplished.

* * *

"Let the Pensieve show that we convene today on the eighteenth of September, 1998, in order to question Walden Macnair and Rabastan Lestrange."

Harry leaned back in his chair and cast a subtle Warming Charm. The Aurors' idea of a good interrogation room was a chamber with stone walls and high windows, filled in with glass and iron. They were somewhere in a building associated with the Ministry, but not inside the Ministry itself, since that was underground. Unless someone's idea of enchanted windows included realistic cold breezes, too.

Klein sat next to him. She was the one who had spoken the opening words, even though there was no Pensieve in the room. Harry reckoned it was just a way to show that they'd be willing to contribute their memories to a Pensieve later, in case anyone had any questions about the interrogation. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at Malfoy, next to him, and then Olversvald, beyond him.

Malfoy ignored him, staring at the Death Eaters who waited, chained, on the other side of the table. It had been like that since the day he found Harry in the library and complained about his research. Harry yanked his eyes away from Malfoy's face again and decided to focus on the enemy. After all, he _would _like to know what they'd been doing so close to the school and what they knew about the wolfwere's pups. He had gone back to the Forest since the night of the attack and helped the wolfwere search for more clues that might tell them who'd killed his children, but in vain.

He could at least hope to get justice this way.

"Tell us," said Olversvald, in a chatty, cheerful voice not too different from the one he'd used when he talked to Malfoy and Harry in McGonagall's office, "why you were staying in the Forbidden Forest."

"Had nowhere else to go, did we?" Macnair said. He spat into the middle of the table. "Not since our Lord fell." His eyes rested on Harry's face, and for a minute they seemed to burn. Then he jerked, hissing out a sharp breath as his eyes fell shut.

"Yes, your chains will do that if you perform a deliberate discourtesy," said Olversvald, sounding sorry about it. "So. Were you intending to attack the school, or Harry Potter, or anything else in the general vicinity?"

Macnair said nothing, looking at the ceiling as though it was the most interesting thing in the room. Harry focused on Rabastan. He hadn't glanced at them yet. His head was bowed, his hands twisting back and forth in the manacles, hard enough to make them clink.

Harry had seen something like that before. There was a boy called Ethan who sometimes ran with Dudley's gang, and would join in the kicking and the punching and the Harry-hunting. But get him alone, and he was really weaker than the rest of them, certainly weaker than someone willing to fight back.

"I don't think they wanted to attack me," he said. "I think they wanted to kill me."

Macnair laughed and said nothing, but Rabastan jerked as though Harry had poked him with a fork, and then shook his head desperately. "N-no! Really! No! No-nothing of the kind! We're peaceful now, and we wanted to have a fair shot at life and we knew we wouldn't get it from the Ministry," he added, in the tones of someone reciting a script learned by heart.

_Who made up the script for him? _Harry knew it was a question that wouldn't have occurred to him before the last few weeks, but it was there now. He didn't think he could ask it directly, though, and he hesitated.

Macnair turned and glanced at Rabastan. As far as Harry saw, he did no more than that, but Rabastan wilted, bowing his head and tucking his hands into his robe as though he would need persuasion to move them out again. Harry's spine tingled, and he glanced sideways with one eye at the Aurors, sure they couldn't be blind to what he could see.

They weren't. Olversvald nodded at the Aurors that stood near the door, behind a bubble ward, but still near enough to respond instantly if someone needed them. "Would you take Mr. Macnair for a walk? We want to speak to Mr. Lestrange, and he does seem to be getting in the way."

Macnair tried to hit one of the two Aurors in the face with the chain on his left wrist, but they dodged pretty easily and dragged him to his feet. Macnair was raving and spitting, his tongue dangling out of his mouth as he shouted back at Rabastan, "You can't tell them! If you tell them, I'll _kill_ you!"

_Idiot, _Harry thought. _If he really wanted us not to suspect that something was up, then he shouldn't have talked to Rabastan like that. But then, no one ever said that the Death Eaters were geniuses._

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Malfoy, sitting silent and tense and dull-eyed, now, beside him. _Really not geniuses._

When the door of the interrogation room had closed behind Macnair, Olversvald focused on Rabastan. "You must realize," he said, with sincerity that Harry thought he probably practiced in meetings with the Minister, "that we would never allow anything to happen to you. You would be protected if you chose to turn witness. Macnair will go to Azkaban if he refuses to speak, and that means you would never have to see him again."

Rabastan gave a hollow laugh. "That may be so," he said. "But I'm afraid of Macnair because of who he stands close to. And you can't do anything about _him_."

"Who is him, Lestrange?" Klein seemed interfering when she spoke, but then Harry heard her voice and understood why she had. Her bored tone of voice seemed to soothe Rabastan; he sat up and looked from one to the other of them, nodding a little as though in time to a tune.

"You all know him," he said. "And you won't dare do anything about him even if you could, because he terrifies you all."

Well, Harry could think of one Death Eater who fit that description, and who hadn't been captured. "Greyback?" he asked quietly.

Rabastan laughed again, but Harry only knew it was a laugh because of the way his Adam's apple bobbed; it looked exactly like it had when he was laughing the first time. "Yes," he said. "He threatened to turn us all into werewolves if we failed. And he can rip through the walls of any cell you put me in. Then he'll bite me, and I'll spend the rest of my life clawing myself to pieces on the full moon. Anything is better than that. Kill me. I don't want to be a _monster_."

Harry saw Malfoy opening his mouth, and knew, without his speaking, that he was going to say something like that Rabastan already was one. He nudged him hard in the ribs, and Malfoy grunted but fell silent. The grunt made Rabastan turn his head and stare at him, though.

"You were a prize, too," he whispered. "Did you know that? The Dark Lord promised Greyback that he could bite you once he no longer needed your family to have a claim to the Manor. Always so _superior, _whisking your robes away from Greyback and glaring down your nose at him. Did you think he wouldn't notice? Of course he notices when someone treats him like dirt."

Malfoy closed his eyes, and said nothing. His pale face looked like ice now, that would shatter at a blow. Harry turned back to Rabastan, since both Klein and Olversvald seemed content to remain silent for now and let him handle the situation. "Why did Greyback want you to kill me so badly?" He had thought the werewolf was the kind of monster who would be happy Voldemort was gone, because then he could do what he wanted instead of having to follow some kind of rules.

Rabastan looked at him and gave a bitter smile. "Because he knows that you'll come after him, eventually. You would see it as your duty to track him down and keep him from biting anyone else. He wants to stop you before you can."

"And he sent you into the Forbidden Forest to do such a thing?" Olversvald asked quietly. "Were you living with the werewolf packs?"

"There are no werewolf packs there," Rabastan said, sounding irritated that someone else didn't have the intimate knowledge of the Forbidden Forest that he did. "Only Greyback."

Harry nodded. He should have thought about that. He'd heard howling in the Forest, everyone had, but it was either during the times when Remus was teaching at Hogwarts or not during the full moon. Greyback was halfway to werewolf all the time anyway. He could have-

_ He could have told the Death Eaters to kill the wolfwere's pups. He would probably think of them as abominations anyway, or competition. He wouldn't want to leave them alive._

Before Harry could ask, though, Rabastan turned his head away sharply and stared at the wall. Then he shook his head. "Macnair's dead," he said. "You should have guarded him better."

"What?" Olversvald asked, and flowed to his feet in a battle stance, his hand on his wand. It was the first time Harry had heard him sound more than disappointed with someone. He turned his head, carefully scanning the walls to the sides and the door in front of him, and then flicked his wand. The bubble ward that had separated them from the other Aurors-and from sounds outside the cell, Harry realized now-vanished. Now they could hear the cacophony of screams and shrieks and roars from the distance.

Olversvald swore, and began to run. Klein was right behind him, shrugging off the trailing cloak that she always wore. She wanted to be more battle-ready, too, Harry thought, his mind vaulting and shining into higher regions, the way it had when they battled the Death Eaters in the Forest.

He leaped to his feet. Malfoy promptly grabbed his arm. "You can't leave me here!" he hissed. "If Greyback does want to bite me, and he's _here_..."

Harry acted before he thought about it, turning his wand so it pointed at Malfoy. A sleeping charm would have worked to hold him behind, but wouldn't keep him safe. There was only one spell Harry could think of that would protect him but mean Malfoy wasn't right behind him, causing more danger than Harry could keep him out of. "_Bulla invicta!_"

The air around Malfoy bulged and rippled, and then he was floating off the floor inside a glowing, transparent bubble. Harry punched the side, and winced, watching as his knuckles began to bleed. On the other hand, Malfoy was clearly still breathing. Yes, he'd cast the Indestructible Bubble they'd started to learn about in Charms right, although it was usually used to hold things and not people.

Malfoy slammed his fists into the inside of the bubble, and stared at Harry. "Potter, you _incredible git,_" he said, in a tone that promised much more deadly vengeance later.

"I need you to stay safe," Harry said simply, and then cast a tether that would link to the bubble and then to his magic. That way, it would follow him but not get in the way like it would if he tied it to his wrist or his leg or something. He faced the door and ran out of the room, heading towards the screaming.

"Only you," Malfoy said in disgust, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the inside of the bubble. Harry saw that from the corner of his eye, of course. He was busy watching out for threats in front of him, and didn't have the time for Malfoy's melodramatics.

"Only me what?" Harry jerked to a stop in front of the corridor that suddenly opened up in front of him and looked around. The walls were blank stone, and although he could hear lots of screaming, it seemed to come equally from the two side corridors that branched off here. Harry sucked his lip, and then took the right one. That would probably get him to the center of Greyback's rampage just as fast.

"Only you would run _towards _screaming instead of _away _from it," Malfoy muttered. "And only you would cage up the one person who you can trust to be on your side."

Harry shrugged. Malfoy could take the shrug for an apology if he wanted to. That was the way Harry kind of intended it. "Greyback wants to bite you, and I can't take the chance. And you looked like you might be so afraid that you would get in the way instead of help, and I can't take the chance on that, either."

Malfoy hissed at him, but Harry didn't have the time to listen, because there was suddenly a confused group of Aurors in front of him, shooting curses at each other. Harry wondered if Greyback had hit them with a Confundus Charm or something, and then saw the incredibly fast shape that darted through the middle of them, his clawed hands swinging out and marking person after person with the kind of scratches he had used on Bill.

_Bill. Malfoy. All the people who might suffer if he gets away._

Harry's mind cleared and settled into place, even more than it had during the battle in the Forbidden Forest. He stepped forwards and sent a load of bright sparks roaring out of his wand.

The sparks shone above his head and then spelled out, _FENRIR GREYBACK IS A LOSER._

"Oh, now we're going to die," he heard Malfoy moan in the bubble behind him, and then a slam that was probably his head falling against the side of the bubble, once again. That was all right. He could have as little faith as he liked. Harry knew his spellcasting would last even if he died and hold Malfoy safe.

His gaze focused on Greyback, who had come to a halt long enough to read the message in the sparks, and was now looking right at him.

He looked exactly the way he had the last time Harry saw him. Big, thuggish, covered with shaggy grey hair, with long, wickedly-curving yellow nails and fangs more than teeth. His eyes glowed yellow. He had nothing but madness and idiocy in them. Of course, that _would _make sense for someone who wanted to bite Malfoy just for being Malfoy, and someone who had come into a mess of Aurors to attack them.

_He's done well enough against them so far._

That was all Harry had time to think of before Greyback tamped down his legs and soared out of the group of Aurors, heading straight for him. It was a wolf's leap, but again, that wasn't a surprise. Harry had read a little about werewolves this summer, and it was possible for them to pick up animal traits if they didn't hate and despise their beast side the way Remus had.

Harry lifted his wand, and watched Greyback falling towards him. He didn't feel fear. He didn't feel much of anything but determination to take Greyback down and keep him from hurting anyone else, really. That was the good part about being the kind of "killer" personality that it seemed Klein thought he was.

He waited until Greyback was directly above him, and he knew there would be no stopping or turning aside. Then he nodded and cast the spell that had been ready to go ever since he understood that it was a werewolf attacking them. "_Hasta argenta!_"

A long row of silver spears appeared in midair between him and Greyback. Greyback had time to yelp before the longest one took him through the heart, but nothing more than that. And then the rest coiled in like a hedgehog's spines and stabbed him again and again, through the head and the spine and the legs and the arms. He opened his mouth in what Harry thought could be a scream, but Harry never heard the noise. His head dangled and his mouth opened and his tongue spilled out, and then he was hanging, spitted, in the air above Harry, in silence.

Harry stared up at him. He was covered with blood, he noted absently, on his face and his arms and his shirt. Malfoy, still hovering in the bubble nearby and staring at him, hadn't been splattered at all.


	12. Natural Born Killer

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twelve—Natural-Born Killer_

* * *

"You understand that something will have to be done about you."

Harry, eating one of the scones that Olversvald had ordered his Aurors to serve, didn't bother to look up. Klein had been saying things like that since she'd found out he'd killed Greyback. He'd expected it, after the way she'd reacted to his former killing.

_Killing? Murder? Assassination? Self-defense? How should I think about it? _

That was the weird thing. Harry knew that he should think about it _more._ He should worry about it the way Klein was doing, or at least be more concerned that he was killing Death Eaters trained Aurors couldn't handle. But instead, he sat there and ate his scone without thinking much about it.

He had expected Malfoy to speak up, either saying he agreed with Klein and Harry was mad or contributing some anecdote about how Harry had put him in the bubble and was therefore a horrible person. Instead, Malfoy just sat across the table with his arms folded and his mouth shut. They were back in the interrogation room, but this time without the Death Eaters.

And with Malfoy's eyes staring at Harry as if he planned to burn a hole in Harry's forehead with them. There was that, too.

Harry pushed the scone away from him and looked up. Malfoy promptly focused on the wall. Harry shrugged. He couldn't do anything about settling the score between them, or whatever Malfoy thought he should do, if Malfoy wouldn't look at him.

"Pay attention to me, Potter!"

Harry blinked and turned to face Klein. "Sorry," he said. "Are you speaking as Professor Klein? Or an Auror who thinks that I ought to be arrested for saving people's lives? Or someone who's concerned that I'll infect others with a werewolf bite because I got sprayed with Greyback's blood? I know someone who got scratched by him and still hasn't turned into a werewolf, so I'm not that worried about it."

"Blood is less infectious than a scratch, that is true," Olversvald mused. He was the only one in the room other than Harry who seemed to be thinking about the fact that they had just survived a fight and it might be a good idea to relax and celebrate. He was looking at Harry, but he looked at Klein too, and Malfoy, and the nervous Aurors near the door who didn't look reassured that Harry wouldn't turn into a ravening monster at any moment. "Otherwise, Potions masters couldn't use it." He leaned forwards, rapping a wand into his palm thoughtfully. "But you do have a natural talent for killing, Mr. Potter, and it could be a cause for concern if used improperly."

"I would kill someone who was attacking me and looked like they wanted to kill me," Harry said. "But unless you think that you have to do that because you're an Auror, then it's just going to be Death Eaters."

Olversvald's lips flattened for a moment, and he shook his head. "And what about people who might want to duel you as practice for their own reputations, to be able to say that they beat Harry Potter? Will you be able to hold back from practicing lethal violence on them? So far, it does not seem as if you can."

Harry blinked. "Why? I dueled plenty of times in school and taught people how to survive duels, and I even dueled Voldemort once in my fourth year and didn't kill anyone!"

Olversvald sighed. "Teaching is different. The wonder in your fourth year is that you survived, not that you did not kill anyone." He eyed Harry in a way that reminded him of Fawkes. "And, speak the truth, now. Did you survive that duel by sheer skill alone?"

Harry had to shake his head, thinking about the _Priori Incantatem. _

"Well, then." Olversvald hesitated, then said, "There is also the matter of your age. What was a wonder and precocious in a child will seem considerably different now that you are of age."

"So, basically, I'm fucked no matter what I do," Harry summarized. He heard Klein gasp, probably because he was using language like that to a Head Auror, but he didn't care. _She _had run off when Greyback attacked, leaving him and Malfoy alone instead of trying to protect them. She ought to be ashamed of herself, and if her job really was to keep him from harm, she should think about that and not the amount of points she could have scored if she'd brought Greyback down herself.

"One might put it that way." Olversvald waited, and Harry waited with him, because he didn't understand what the man wanted him to say. A moment later, Olversvald sighed and prompted, "One might also ask what one could do to change it."

"I am," Harry said. "I don't want everyone to be afraid of me. I've tried that once already, in second year, and I didn't enjoy it at all."

He became aware that Malfoy was looking at him. Harry didn't look back. Maybe Malfoy would come out of his sullen trance, or just the fear he was feeling now, if Harry didn't look at him.

_I don't want _him _to be afraid of me, either._

Olversvald nodded. "Fine. Then let us put out the word that we killed Greyback. That will keep others from fearing you as someone who can take down a werewolf who baffles our best wands, and some of the more stupid and stubborn from insisting you be tried as an adult would be for murder."

"Someone would insist on that?" Harry asked, and then he shook his head, thinking of the lengths that the Ministry had gone to to get him expelled or in trouble his fifth year. "Of course someone would."

Olversvald smiled at him again. "I see your understanding of Ministry politics as well as your talent with curses is in advance of your training," he murmured. "Yes, someone would insist. I don't think you have any idea how you are regarded by the wider wizarding community in general, Mr. Potter, or you could not sit there so calmly."

"Oh, no," Harry said. "I know they want to interview me and think I'm the Savior of the World and stuff like that." He thought about the summer and the way he had given himself permission to focus on his friends instead of the things people would have wanted his opinion on, like totally unimportant Ministry politics. Could he explain that? Probably not.

"I just decided that it wasn't important after the war," he said at last. "They're going to think of me how they want, and spread rumors that I'm sleeping with people, and the best I can hope to do is ignore them. So I do."

Olversvald gave him a long look Harry didn't understand until he said, "But you don't mind doing things that would exacerbate the spread of the rumors."

Luckily, that was one of the words Hermione used a lot. Harry debated pretending not to understand anyway, but decided Olversvald, and even Klein, were too smart to be fooled that way.

"I do the things that are in front of me," he said. "Anyway, I'll let you spread the rumor you took down Greyback, or use it as the official story to the press, or whatever. I don't really care. Is there someone who _can _test me for any effect his blood might have on me, and make sure Malfoy is all right before we go home?"

"I will bring one of our Potions masters who should be able to feed you a potion that will show the risks of infection," Olversvald said, and his voice was a bit choked as he stood up. Harry folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

"You could at least laugh in front of me, if I said something really stupid," he pointed out. "I'd like to know what the really stupid thing was."

"Nothing stupid," Olversvald said, and the smile broke out on his face. "I'm only glad that if we _have _to have a Chosen One who saved the world and kills as easily as he breathes, then it's someone like you."

Harry wanted to say he didn't kill as easily as he breathed—it was more like another state of mind, and anyway, he only did what he had to do, what was right—but he decided it wasn't worth arguing about. He just nodded instead, and Olversvald walked across the room and had a word with one of the Aurors by the door. He nodded and left. Olversvald remained over there talking with the other one, and Klein folded her arms and gave Harry the kind of stare that reminded him he hadn't written his Defence essay that was due tomorrow yet.

"If you have fooled him, _I _know what you are," she said quietly. "They taught us to recognize people like you during our training. We don't have one name for them—some people call them Dark wizards, as if you were no different than the vast majority of the criminals we bring in—and some people call them the irredeemable. But I have heard Muggles talking, and they used a name I like better."

"What's that?" Harry asked. He knew she was hostile to him, and he might as well let her have it out. It would be better than having her stab him in the back later. He thought she was someone who would get more resentful if she was ignored.

"A serial killer," Klein said. "Someone who uses the same patterns to kill, except that they become more intense over time, and claims many victims."

Harry sighed. "I _promise _I'm not one of those," he said. "I know what you mean, and that's ridiculous. I've only killed two people so far. Both times, they were trying to kill me. I even waited until the second that Greyback couldn't change his leap. I was giving him the chance to decide he didn't want to kill me and break away."

"Two people in less than a month," Klein said, and her eyes were not friendly. "And there were tactical reasons to wait that long. You wanted to make sure that he couldn't change direction, and your spell would kill him."

"Yes," Harry admitted. "If I left him alive, there was the chance I wouldn't be able to contain him either. You lot have loads more training and experience than I do, and you weren't managing to contain him. I didn't think I could."

"You wanted to kill him," Klein whispered. "An Auror's first trait has to be mercy, but I can find it nowhere in you."

"_Bollocks_."

The word was so low and intense Harry at first didn't know where it came from. It sounded like the kind of thing Olversvald might have said if he was close enough to hear what Klein was saying, but he was still over by the door talking. Harry looked around, and finally made out Malfoy, leaning forwards with his arms folded around himself like a cloak.

"You're wrong, and you're making a hash of handling this diplomatically," Malfoy said, choking on the words. "You think he's dangerous and kills as easily as he breathes, and yet you're giving him reason to consider you an enemy?"

"I didn't ask you for your opinion," Klein said, and made an unsuccessful effort to look down her nose at Malfoy. Since he was looking down his nose at _her _at the same time, Harry pictured their gazes colliding and knocking sparks off each other. He had to conceal a snort with the back of his hand, and try to look properly sober when Olversvald glanced back at them. He nodded as though Harry had been successful about that and faced the Aurors again.

"Too bad," Malfoy said, and he sounded smoother and more controlled than Klein. Harry didn't know if that was much of an accomplishment at the moment, but he noted it. "You're hearing it. You antagonize someone you think is dangerous and who has the fame to make your life _seriously _uncomfortable if he wants to. What's intelligent about that? Let the Ministry take credit for this, the way he wants you to, and the next time _guard him. _Then a point like this might not come up."

"It is hard to guard him in the middle of a battle, when we are trying to kill the one he killed," Klein said, and Harry thought that nothing but him killing someone else could have possibly got her to look away from Malfoy right now.

"How did Greyback get in here?" Malfoy asked. "Why did it take so many Aurors so much time to subdue him, but Potter was able to do it at once?"

"I'd like to know that, too," Harry added, just so they didn't forget about his existence.

Malfoy glanced at him and then back at Klein. "Quiet, Potter. The adults are talking."

Harry hissed. It was nice sometimes—in the sense of the word that people used when they talked about a party at the Dursleys'—to be reminded Malfoy was still a prick and hadn't really changed.

He would have said that Malfoy was only two months older than he was, but Klein started talking again. "He came through our wards with the help of someone on the inside," she said, and her teeth were probably scraping against her tongue at having to give _that _much away. "He could not have done otherwise."

"Are you sure?" Malfoy leaned forwards and gave her the kind of smile that Harry never saw in Hogwarts anymore, only in forests and interrogation rooms. _Maybe Malfoy should be the one considering a career as an Auror, _he thought. _He has the face for it. _"Perhaps your wards are simply that old and rotten."

Klein's shoulders tightened for a moment as if she would surge up from the table, and Harry's mind immediately brightened and focused on all the ways that she might go and how he could stop her if she did so. He leaned back in his seat and blinked. He didn't remember that happening in battles during the war. Was this a tendency he'd had all his life, this tendency to be so good at Defense that he could kill easily, and he just hadn't known about it?

"We've had new wards replaced last month," Klein said. "An organization that we hadn't used before, but which came highly recommended. We will now have to check the wards for loopholes that might have allowed a werewolf to slip through."

"A start," Malfoy said, and examined his hand with a bored look that made Harry have to eat laughter. _No, not an Auror. He should be a solicitor. _"Wards or no, you still haven't answered the question about why Potter was the only one in this mess able to defend himself effectively."

"That's not quite fair, Malfoy," Harry said. He didn't think before he said the words, which McGonagall and Hermione would probably say was the whole problem. "Greyback was defending well, too."

Malfoy nodded to him while Klein spluttered. "That's true," he said. "A good point, Mr. Potter." He turned back to Klein. "Harry agreed to let you guard him and put tracking spells on him even when he wanted to be alone," he said, making Harry raise his eyebrows. Apparently they were on a first-name basis when not speaking directly to each other. "But why should he keep that agreement when you can't competently _keep up your side of the bargain?"_

Those words ended with him leaning into Klein's face, and Klein hunched back in her seat, serpent-coiled. Harry stared between her and Malfoy and felt there hit him, like a thunderclap, the realization of how absurd all of this was.

No wonder Klein found him hard to deal with. Here he was, younger than most of the Aurors not in training and he was already a war hero and someone who could kill criminals they couldn't handle. He had done that to two of them in one month, and captured others, more than Klein had in that one battle and more at one time than most of the other Aurors had managed. And now Malfoy had backed her to a standstill despite being much the same age as Harry. She wasn't prepared for this.

This wasn't the way the world was supposed to go.

Then again, neither was him and Malfoy being friends—or allies of a sort, that was probably a better term—or Hermione having lost her parents to a Memory Charm she'd cast herself, or Harry having survived the Killing Curse. The wizarding world was weird and had been for a bloody long time. Harry thought he was probably in a better place to deal with that than most people, and perhaps Malfoy was, too, if only by virtue of what had happened to him this summer.

Klein was sitting up, though, coming back to the attack. Malfoy's tactics had been good, Harry decided, but he'd left her too long to think. Which meant it was Harry's turn to attack if they were going to get what they wanted.

"I'm curious, Auror Klein," he said, leaning forwards and making his voice as polite as he could. Klein's head snapped towards him. Malfoy sat down and nodded to him. The nod could have meant a lot of things, Harry thought, but he would take it as approval unless Malfoy actually interrupted him. "I know that that spell I used isn't rare, and some of the Aurors must have known it. Why didn't you use it? Or some other spell based on silver that would have slowed Greyback down?"

"That you can ask that question," Klein said, and touched her forehead for a moment and then her wand, as though _one _of them would give her answers that would make sense. Then she sighed and said, "Can you think of it? What would have happened if we had used that spell on Greyback?"

"You would have stopped him," Harry said, but with the hard feeling in his chest that something had gone wrong. He'd spoken as quickly as he could, as confidently, but she had still recovered faster than he had thought she would. She looked at him tolerantly now, and then shook her head.

"We would have _killed _him," she said. "Which means we couldn't have questioned him, learned for sure how he broke through the wards, and why he wanted to come here in particular. Was it to kill the Death Eaters we captured? He did kill Macnair, and that didn't look like an accident. How did he know which part of the building to break into? How did he know that Macnair was away from the interrogation room at that moment, with only two escorts?" She sighed. "All those things we could have learned. And because a child decided he had to kill just then, we've lost the answers to those questions forever."

"So you would have risked getting people hurt, getting them turned into werewolves and shunned, for the sake of a capture," Malfoy said. He was testing each word, Harry thought, and finding it wanting as he did. "Because you wanted to follow the _law _more than you wanted to save someone."

Klein's face was the color Dudley's had sometimes turned when he had to do running exercises in primary school. "You have no idea what concepts you are speaking of with such contempt, Malfoy," she said. "You've never served the law in your life. It's never been important to you. But if your precious Potter does become an Auror, it will have to be important to _him_."

"I don't know that he'll want to," Malfoy said, and glanced at Harry as thought they had been in communion. "Considering how much idiocy there is around here, who knows? It might be catching."

Klein sat, now, her arms held stiffly in front of her. She seemed to have learned the best lesson of arguing with Draco Malfoy, Harry thought: just don't answer back. She stared past him, and Malfoy leaned in as if he would snap his fingers in front of her eyes.

Harry caught his hand, and shook his head. Malfoy looked back, his head tilted to the side, his throat and his face so visible that Harry's breath caught. This was the way he had wanted to see Malfoy looking at him since that night in the Forest, while he had gone back to the dull eyes and the nonsensical answers and the looking away as if he had something to be ashamed of in having a spell cast on him.

Malfoy grasped the thoughts that were going through his head—maybe, Harry thought, with an insistent leap of his heart, better than Harry himself did. He turned his head to the side and was gone for a moment behind that mask. Harry dropped his hand and waited. If he had driven Malfoy away from him by pushing too hard, then he would—

Well, he wasn't sure what he would do, but it would involve lots of spell practice by himself in the Room of Requirement to get rid of some of his own stupidity.

"Gentlemen. Auror Klein."

Harry started. Olversvald had come back to the table, carrying a vial of magenta potion in his hand. He looked between them and closed his eyes, shaking his head as though he was Professor McGonagall finding the remains of one of their post-game parties.

"Here is the potion that should tell you whether the werewolf blood has infected you," Olversvald said quietly, and held out the vial to Harry. "Please drink it all as soon as possible, since it has to be swallowed while it's hot."

The glass against his palm was already lukewarm, so Harry drank the potion as quickly as he could. He gagged, of course, since it tasted as well as smelled like vomit. But he had to do it, and so he gripped his throat against the tendency to send it right back up and showed that he had more control over his body than a potion did.

He looked up to find Klein staring at him, Olversvald waiting with his eyebrows raised, and Malfoy…Harry had to look away from the expression on Malfoy's face. "What?" he asked. "Has it done something it shouldn't have? Am I infected?" He could say that more calmly than he had thought he could, especially considering who would know about his infection.

"It should have made your face turn blue if you were clean, and green if you were infected," Malfoy whispered in response. He leaned closer still. "Instead, your face is the color of the potion."

"Well, wait a minute, maybe it's that way because of what I had to do to choke it down," Harry suggested.

Malfoy shook his head. His hand rose and hovered next to the side of Harry's face, but didn't actually touch it. "And your skin feels hot," he said, sounding half-awed. "Potter, what did you _do_?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course, yet another bloody weird thing has to happen in my life," he said. "And it has to be my fault, doesn't it?"

Considering everything, especially how long the magenta color was taking to leave his face, Harry thought Klein didn't _have _to say, "Ten points from Gryffindor for language, Mr. Potter."

He understood it, though. It was her desperate attempt to regain control of a situation that had gone strange.

_There just isn't much that's normal or controlled about me, though, _he thought, and slumped back against the back of his chair to wait the extra time it would take for Olversvald to find a Potions expert who could tell him what the new color meant.

But hey, at least it made Malfoy continue looking at him with clear eyes, instead of pretending he was stupid again.


	13. A Potions Master's Troubles

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirteen—A Potions Master's Troubles_

"This should be everything you need," Harry said, and used his wand to hover the blanket that was wrapped around the ingredients in mid-air. Then he cast another spell that would unroll the blanket but keep the ingredients from falling. That was the last thing he needed right now, after his careful owl-orders, for everything to fall into the fire of the brazier Snape had to keep burning.

Snape barely looked at the leaves and flowers and vials of dust and claws and water that Harry had arranged side-by-side. His eyes were fixed on the magenta color of Harry's face. "What did you do to yourself?" he demanded.

"Nothing that will alert anyone else to your presence." Harry yawned, and clapped a hand over his mouth just in time so he wouldn't inhale the stupidly annoying order of Snape's burning. He wondered if he would be able to go back to the Tower after this and just _sleep_, without someone awakening him in the middle of the night for yet another interview with the Aurors or one of the Potions masters from the Ministry. He understood why they did those at night—McGonagall and the Aurors both didn't want anyone sensing what was going on and panicking—but they were hard on _him_. "So don't worry about that. You should look through what I ordered and see whether this is what you need."

Snape had half-risen to his feet, something Harry couldn't remember happening before. He had thought Snape needed to stay still so that the ritual or the smoke or whatever was really keeping him in this half-state would continue to work. "What potion did this?" he asked. "It must be a potion, or you wouldn't have come to me for help."

Harry stared at him, then snorted. "The fuck are you talking about? I came here to bring you the ingredients you wanted me to gather. Believe me, there's no way I would ask you for help, when the thing that would have been most helpful is letting me tell Malfoy about you, and you wouldn't let me do that." He swung his Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders and turned towards the door.

"Potter."

Harry hesitated in spite of himself, looking over his shoulder. Snape had used the same tone that he had when he was telling Harry the truth about his state, or when he had leaked out the memories of his childhood for Harry to use and understand. He wouldn't say something like that unless it was important.

"Tell me," Snape said. "It was a potion. Tell me."

Harry hesitated again, but then nodded. He could see where Snape was coming from. He didn't want to owe Harry a debt for getting the ingredients for him. This way, if he could tell Harry something that helped, there should be no debt, even in Snape's mind. And Harry knew better than to tell him that there was no debt right now. He would scoff, and they would enter on another argument that would prevent Harry from going to sleep on time.

"All right," he said. "It was a testing potion that was supposed to tell them whether Greyback's blood had infected me. But this is the color my face turned, instead of either blue or green." He gestured at his face. The intense shade had faded a little over the last week, but not enough to make him look normal.

"Greyback's blood," Snape said, and Harry wasn't sure which word he was giving the more weight to there, or if he was supposed to be able to tell.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, and rubbed at a spot behind his ear that itched. "What else was I supposed to do when he was attacking people? Sit him down, give him a nice cup of tea, and ask him how his holidays were?"

"You should _explain _why you were near Greyback in the first place," Snape whispered, and this time there was definitely a word in the sentence with more emphasis. Harry shrugged impatiently, then winced as that made a muscle in his side pull. There were a few consequences of his adventures at the Ministry that he hadn't noticed at the time, in all the crazy running around.

"All right," he said. "We were at the Ministry sitting in on the interrogation of the Death Eaters we helped capture, and there was Macnair…"

Snape listened to the recitation in silence. That made Harry blink, because he thought Snape would have lots of questions. But instead, Snape waited to the end and then shook his head with tragic slowness. "You should have come to me in the first place, Potter," he said. "I could have told you that this is not within the normal range of reactions for the potion."

Harry had to roll his eyes at that. "I've figured that out for myself, thanks," he said. "But what _is _it? And I didn't want to bother you when I had nothing to trade for the information, like the ingredients you asked me to get in the first place."

"Nothing to—" Snape's lips thinned, but he said nothing. When Harry thought he could see the storm building, Snape shook his head and said, "Very well. If you wish to handle it this way, we will handle it this way. Bring me a clean vial, a clean cauldron, a stirring rod, three cups of water—"

"All stuff I'll never remember," Harry said, and another yawn made him wish he could cast a sleep spell on himself that would have a chance of working. He was pants at that kind of stuff, as he was at a lot of subtle magic. That was the downside of his power that Klein never saw. She seemed to think he could do anything, and that was why he was dangerous, while Harry knew he was dangerous because he was good at defensive magic and people kept trying to kill him, which was why he needed to defend himself in the first place. "Can you write it down? And can I bring it to you tomorrow night?"

Snape was silent for some moments. Harry let another yawn through, not bothering to conceal it. He knew Snape would refuse, so there was no reason to try and look alert.

"Tomorrow night, then," Snape said. "I will have a list for you. You will come to retrieve the list at no later than half-past nine. Do you understand, stupid boy?"

Harry smiled. Even the insults were almost familiar, and he could pass off disappearing at such an early hour as going to bed early, since his friends knew about the interruptions. "Yeah, sir. Thanks." He stood up and drew his Cloak around him fully this time, heading for the door.

Once, he heard Snape pull in his breath as though he would say something, but in the end he didn't. Harry heard the sound of counting and clinking as he began to sort through the ingredients, and hoped that he would find what he needed in the mass of packages. The thought of having to owl-order things again or go searching around in the Forbidden Forest for items made Harry feel more tired than ever.

He did stagger back to his bed and fall headlong into the bliss of sleep, though, so there was that.

* * *

"There's no sign of them?"

Harry kept his voice down; he already knew how Hermione felt about her private business being aired to the other tables. He watched her swat her hair out of her face, and winced. Her eyes were red-rimmed with crying, and she looked as though she had spent more nights in a row awake than Harry had.

"No," she whispered. "I used—the charms I used should have made them go towards the coast, _somewhere. _I never said anything about the _interior _of Australia being pleasant. But I looked in all the big coastal cities with those devices I have that should tell me when they're near, and they weren't _there!_ They're huge Muggle places, I know, and I could have missed them, but I should have found a trace somewhere. And there wasn't."

Ron rested his hand on one of Hermione's shoulders as she buried her face in her hands. Harry rested his hand on the other one, already thinking.

"Was there any city where you picked up a trace of a trace?" he asked at last. "Something that made you think you were near, and it turned out you weren't?"

Hermione sniffled and made an obvious attempt to force herself back to the present. "Sydney," she said at last. "The glasses lit up, and I thought they would lead me straight to my parents for a few seconds. But then they sputtered and died."

Harry nodded. "You told us the devices home in on blood," he said. "That they could tell you when family is near."

"Yes," Hermione said indistinctly, and pushed her hair out of her eyes again. "I thought the glasses lit up like that because I passed someone who might be distantly related to me. I know I had a few great-great-uncles or something who went to Australia."

Harry shook his head. "But family means more than that. You and Ron are family to me, but we're not related by blood. What if the glasses work because they're related to something like that? To people who carry an image of you in their minds, who know you and love you?" Ever since Hermione had shown him the devices that she was hoping to use to find her parents, shimmering crystal balls that filled with green or pink light (or were supposed to) when she was near the people they were tuned to, Harry had wondered about that. Blood seemed limited, and too simple for the glasses to find when they were that expensive.

Hermione's mouth fell open. "The book that came with them said something about that," she murmured faintly. "But I didn't read it all the way through."

"_You_?" Ron said, and looked as shocked as though Harry had announced that he and Ginny were really getting back together. He let his spoon fall back into his cereal and stared at Hermione with his mouth open.

She was upset enough not to notice. "I didn't," she said, and swallowed. "So much in the wizarding world is different—it's based on blood. I assumed the glasses would be like that, too. I thought—I thought they would have a hard time finding someone related to me who was a Muggle, but the book _did _say they could find Squib relatives and bastard children who weren't on a family tapestry, that's what they're usually for, so I didn't worry too much about it. But if it's family like that—Harry, I _erased their memories!_" Her voice rose to a wail that made more than one other person look at the Gryffindor table. "How are they going to come back from that? And how are they going to feel about me when they do?"

Harry and Ron tried to soothe her, while people continued staring. One of them was Malfoy, but his eyes were dull again, and he hadn't spoken a word to Harry since they came back to school from their adventure with Greyback, so Harry ignored him. If Malfoy tried to taunt Hermione about this, he would get Harry's wand up his nose, and that right quick.

"I think I might have an idea," Harry said, when Hermione had stopped crying enough to listen to him. "There was a spell I found the other day when I was researching." "When I was researching the curse Malfoy may or may not have had cast on him," he could have said, but Hermione didn't appear eager to question why he had been in the library.

"What?" she demanded, leaning forwards nearly enough to pitch off the bench.

"A spell that depends on what the caster thinks about and who they love," Harry said. It was the opposite of the spell Malfoy described, really, but he had looked it up anyway, to find out if it had a countercharm that could be twisted around and used on Malfoy. Not really, it seemed. He was glad he remembered it now, though. "So it doesn't matter if the family you're looking for knows you or not. Sometimes it's used to tell people who their real friends are, or find a surrogate family. But. Er. I think I could use it to find you if you were _Obliviated _and didn't remember who I was. So it might work for your parents, too."

Hermione leaned her arms on the table and bowed her head for a moment. Harry saw her shoulders shaking, and leaned forwards warily. He hadn't meant to make her cry, and he wasn't sure what he should do if she was breaking down in front of him. "Hermione?" he whispered, reaching out one hand and then pulling it back.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, and then caught him in a hug so powerful that he squeaked and flailed his arms. "That was what I needed to hear, that there was some hope, even if I didn't know what it was right away. Can you teach me the spell?" She was already pushing the tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand, combing the other hand through her hair, and settling herself in such careful movements that Harry knew she was back.

"Yes," Harry said. "But come to the library." He shot a glance across the room, seeking out the Slytherin table by habit, and found Malfoy staring at them with narrowed eyes. He was the only one who was, though. Everyone else had turned away, as though to pay attention to someone Malfoy was interested in was vulgar by default. "It's—er, it would be easier to find the incantation again there."

Hermione nodded and stood up, abandoning her breakfast without a backwards glance. Ron glanced at his, sighed mournfully, and stuffed a last sausage into his mouth. But he caught Harry's eye on the way up, and his look made Harry's face burn.

_I wanted to help my friends, _he reminded himself sternly as he hurried to the library with Hermione and Ron in tow. _That includes accepting their gratitude instead of pretending that I'm not really doing anything for them._

* * *

Harry glanced down at the list Snape had given him and nodded. "I can get all of this, I think," he said, and paused with a frown when he noticed the last ingredient on the list. "What's the difference between a clean cauldron and a _really _clean cauldron?"

"You should get me one that has not been used before."

Snape's voice sounded different, Harry thought, glancing up from the list curiously. He saw Snape leaning back against the wall of the Shack, his eyes shut as though he was tired, but yes, he was sitting more upright than before, and Harry could see him better. It took him a moment to realize that that wasn't because of any improvement in his eyesight, but because the smoke from the brazier was thinner.

"All right," Harry said, pushing away the thoughts that said Snape could have bloody well _written that down_, and slipped the list into his pocket. "But that means I'll have to owl-order one, and that'll take a few days." He moved towards the tunnel that led back under the tree, already thinking about how he would transport the cups of water Snape wanted to the Shack without spilling any of them. And how full should he fill the cups? Completely full, he decided, and if it was too much water, then it was easy for Snape to get rid of.

"Shall I tell you what I suspect it is?"

Harry paused and turned back to Snape. "What what is?" he asked, still thinking. Could he sacrifice his cauldron to Snape's project? Well, not without knowing if he would ever get it back. He still had to be a Potions student when this was done, after all. Perhaps he could tell Slughorn that his cauldron was destroyed in a Potions accident in another room. But no, Slughorn would never believe that, not when he was all disappointed that Harry wasn't as good a Potions student as he used to be. Unless Harry told him that he was _trying _to be as good as he had been before, by experimenting on his own with the potions that they were most likely to try and make in class—

"Pay attention, Mr. Potter."

Snape didn't have to shout for that tone of voice to be effective. Harry had heard it from Dumbledore sometimes. He reluctantly stopped his thoughts about the best way to get the ingredients here, turned to Snape, and nodded.

"All right," he said. "What what is?"

Snape's lip curled. It was one of the more natural and normal expressions Harry had seen him make since he found out the old bastard was still alive. "As articulate as ever," Snape said, but shook his head when Harry stared at him, and forged on. "The magenta color in your face. I will not know what it is for certain until you bring me the ingredients and I can work on the potion that will reveal it, but I have my suspicions."

"Okay," Harry said, folding his arms and then dropping them again. Hermione had told him once that that gesture made him look really defensive when he did it, and Harry didn't _want _to be really defensive. "What is it?"

"A werewolf's blood is a dangerous magical ingredient," Snape murmured. "Hard to harvest, difficult to work with. Even the glass that contains it must be specially made, and Potions masters must wear gloves unless they are werewolves themselves."

_Then they could get their own blood, I suppose, _Harry thought, but didn't say it. Snape was staring off into the distance, his eyes narrow, and Harry suspected he would stop the train of thought if Harry spoke now.

"But its most well-known property is that it tends to react to the Potions master's personality traits," Snape went on, his voice barely audible. "The ones that he may not know about, the ones that are most important, most deeply buried in his soul." His eyes fastened on Harry, and he no longer sounded as if he were giving a lesson. "Traits such as the desire to kill, the lust to do so."

"I am _not _a serial killer," Harry said.

Snape blinked once. "I would not say that you are," he said. "Such Muggle terms do not often fit a wizard."

Harry cocked his head. Well, at least he believed that more than he would believe a Snape desperate to reassure him. He had shared what Klein had called him with Ron and Hermione, thinking they would laugh, but Ron had turned red and spluttered and Hermione had immediately begun making plans to write letters of complaint to the Ministry. "All right," he said, "but you think that my face turned this color because I like killing? As much as Greyback liked killing?"

He tried to think about that, and couldn't make words fit around the thought. No, it wasn't true. He didn't want to kill anyone who wasn't trying to kill him. He shuddered away from the thought of raising his wand against Snape or Malfoy, for example, no matter how awful they were being, and he didn't want to hurt the Slytherins who were hurting Malfoy, either. They were under a spell, it wasn't their fault, they couldn't help it.

But someone who was going to kill him? He thought about that, and immediately the cool brightness that had flooded his mind when he faced the Death Eaters in the Ministry building and the Forest was back again.

"I don't have any more sympathy for people who are trying to kill me," he mumbled. "I decided this summer I could be a little selfish and only focus on the people who were most important to me, and that I didn't have to blame myself for all the deaths. I reckon—I reckon this is part of it."

Snape listened without speaking, and then said, "Yes. I believe your face has turned that color because the potion is meant to test if someone has become a bloodthirsty beast, and in the moment you killed Greyback, you were that. Like him. The blood has not infected you. But it may bring out those traits more often."

Harry clenched his fists and took a deep breath. "All right. So I might want to start killing other people eventually?"

Snape made a single sharp sound that Harry almost would have called a cluck of his tongue, but, well, it was _Snape. _"Think of who are you, Potter, and what you have done to ensure that our world remained free. No, I do not think it will increase your bloodlust. You had enough of that to kill a werewolf already, and many werewolves _do _target their own kind first, you know. The blood would find nothing to improve."

Harry felt his face burn, but he shook his head and refused to spend a lot of time thinking about Snape's words. He didn't even know if they were a compliment or an insult, for one thing. "All right. What traits could the blood bring out in me, then?"

Snape stared directly at him. Harry shifted in place, missing the smoke of the brazier now. Snape murmured to himself for a moment, and then said, "The territoriality, I think. Yes, that is what the blood of a werewolf will more than likely do. Werewolves stake out a territory unless they are like Greyback and choose to follow another, Darker wizard. They defend it with their lives. Lupin's territory was the Forest."

Harry nodded, distracted suddenly by the thought of Teddy Lupin, who he hadn't been to visit since school started. He ought to do that.

"You may find that you have more of a protective instinct," Snape said, and shrugged. "Again, consider who we are talking about, and that you might not be able to notice the difference." He turned back to the ingredients Harry had brought him tonight with an air that the conversation was definitely over.

"Could you take some of my blood and test it?" Harry asked.

Snape tilted him an oblique look, then said, "Rather Muggle," but fetched an empty vial and tossed it to him. Harry caught it with magic and floated it in, then whispered a small Cutting Charm on his thumb. Looking at Snape, he began to drip blood into the vial, and stopped when Snape bowed his head in a slashing motion, then floated the vial back across.

This time, when he left, Snape didn't stop him.

* * *

Harry stepped away from the Whomping Willow's trunk, and paused, sniffing. He wondered for a moment if a side-effect of the magenta color could include keener senses, because he could smell blood. He dimmed the light from his wand and crouched down, casting the light in a series of long circles that should reveal something about his surroundings while hopefully keeping him safe from some of the nastier enemies he might have out here.

His light ran over a slumped dark shape. Harry scuttled towards it on careful hands and knees, and made out a cloak over the face, a dumped body, one arm projecting at an angle that suggested it had reached after a wand. Yes, wood lay next to the fingers.

Harry pulled back the cloak from the face.

_Malfoy._

_You may find you have more of a protective instinct._

And perhaps he did, because the rage that exploded in Harry as he looked between Malfoy and his broken hawthorn wand resembled a whirlwind of fire.


	14. Hunting the Hunters

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Fourteen—Hunting the Hunters_

"Why did you bring him here."

Snape's voice was too flat even to make it a question. And Harry ignored him anyway as he dumped Malfoy on the floor of the Shack, at the foot of the circle Snape had made, and rubbed his eyes. He had captured the broken pieces of the hawthorn wand and brought it along, and that had been all he could think to do through the first haze of rage.

But he heard Snape's voice, now, and Klein's in the back of his head asking him if his first response when someone was hurt was always going to be to kill, and McGonagall's telling him that he had to find out who had done this before he could do something about it. Or was that Hermione's voice? They sounded an awful lot alike, sometimes.

"Why did you—"

"Because someone had dumped him right by the tree and this was the closest safe place," Harry said, speaking over Snape. He would only say the same stupid thing as before, and Harry was tired of listening to him. "They might have meant the Willow to kill him, I don't know. Or they might have seen me going here. It doesn't matter, Snape. What matters is that he's hurt and you have to help him."

For a moment, Snape closed his eyes and seemed to retreat inside himself. Harry tensed and shook himself down. No, he couldn't go elsewhere for help, not right now. He could take Malfoy to Madam Pomfrey, sure, but it was pretty far and some of the wounds looked threatening. And what would happen if he did that and she asked him what had happened and he accused the Slytherins? They would have some story to support each other, since _all _of them hated Draco.

Snape waited a little more time before he said, "What are his injuries?"

Harry swallowed the temptation to gloat and nodded. "A broken arm," he said. "You can't have an arm like that and _not _have it be broken. A head wound. A—a wound on his side." He peeled back Malfoy's cloak as he spoke, and winced. He didn't know what to call the clumsily gaping hole in Malfoy's skin, which seemed as though someone had just removed a lot of the muscle and flesh around his ribs.

"The arm must be stabilized," Snape said. "He will need potions for the pain. Can you brew them?"

Harry stared at him. _This _was something new. "You would trust my brewing abilities?" he asked. He had assumed Snape would send him to fetch more ingredients, but he saw now how silly that was. Snape couldn't take the time to brew the potions when Malfoy needed them right now.

Snape hissed. "How can I not? What other ally do I have?"

Harry shook his head this time. "He needs the potions now, and it would take too long for me to brew them even if I was a Potions master like you. Slughorn has some of the potions I'll need in his storage cupboards. I'll break in and get them."

Snape stared at him, his eyes shining like two black stars through the gloom and smoke of the brazier. "And what will you say when he accuses you of stealing them?" he asked finally.

Harry smiled. He had the impression it was a smile of the kind that would have convinced Klein he was a killer. "Leave that to me," he said. "I think I have some idea of who did this to Draco, and I'm going to leave evidence that points straight to them."

Snape half-bowed his head. "Be careful," he said. "I left alarm spells that would preserve an image of anyone stepping into my storage cupboard. Horace may be using the same spells, or may have renewed the ones I used."

Harry bit back what he wanted to say—that the spells hadn't stopped Hermione when she got the ingredients for the Polyjuice potion—and nodded. "All right," he said. "If Malfoy wakes up, tell him I'll be back as soon as possible." He turned to the entrance of the tunnel and flung his Cloak over his head again, already thinking about what he would do.

"I will have to explain more than that," Snape said, but his voice was fading, and Harry let it fall away completely as he crept through the tunnel.

_Let's see. What can I do? What will make the Slytherins look like the guilty ones if I take Blood-Replenishing potions and Painkillers? And probably one of the Pepper-Up Potions, too. If Malfoy turns out to be too tired to stay awake and tells us who the attackers were…_

By the time he emerged from the tunnel and trotted across the grass towards the castle, Harry had come up with his plan.

* * *

"P'ter?"

The voice was slurred, but recognizable. Harry sighed in relief as he knelt over Malfoy and started casting the spells Snape had told him to use, the ones that would stabilize the bones in the arm. They weren't broken in lots of little pieces; he thought most of the effort had gone to that big hole in Malfoy's side, which was one reason he'd used a charm to stop the bleeding and try to ease the pain before he'd ever moved Malfoy down the tunnel. "Yes, Draco. I'm here."

Draco made an inquiring noise, and then let his head fall back against Harry's arm curved behind his shoulders, grimacing. "Hurts."

"I know," Harry said. Snape gave him a sharp look, as if he had sounded condescending. Well, too bloody bad. Harry picked up the Blood-Replenisher next to him and held it up so Malfoy's blurry eyes could focus on it. "Can you take this?"

Malfoy swallowed once or twice, then said, "Yeah." Harry held his head up so he wouldn't choke and fed the potion slowly down. Malfoy grimaced more than once or twice, and Harry nodded when he thought the motion wouldn't distract Malfoy. He hated the taste of the stupid things too.

Draco swallowed the last of the potion, and blinked his eyes open and shut. "What happened?"

"We don't know yet," Harry said gently. "I thought some of your—former friends probably attacked you, but that's the best I could come up with. One wound on your side, one broken arm, one head wound." He held his fingers up in front of Malfoy's eyes and waved them back and forth. "Can you see?"

"Yes," Draco whispered. "If you'll stop fucking moving them."

Harry grinned and stopped his hand. "Sorry." He liked to hear that tone from Malfoy; it seemed to get inside him and give him a spine of steel. "Memory intact? They—they broke your wand. Sorry," he added, when Malfoy stared at him and Snape only shook his head as though he had expected a clumsy breaking of the horrible news from Harry, but not one that clumsy. "But I thought it might anchor your memory."

"They stepped on it," Malfoy whispered. "Yes. I remember that now. Blaise, and Pansy, and—was Theodore with them? I don't remember that part. But I remember Pansy held me down, and Blaise told her they were going to create a hole so deep they could see my ribs, and she suggested the heart, to make sure I had one." He shuddered and closed his eyes.

Harry ran his hand up and down Malfoy's back, saying nothing. He was clumsy, but he was also good at comforting people who were grieving. He had done it a lot for George and Ginny and Mrs. Weasley this summer.

"They told me that I was so lowly, so much worse than them, that it wasn't worth their effort to make me die," Malfoy whispered. "They'd just snap my wand and ensure that I had to learn magic all over again from child-level."

"Not going to happen," Harry said. "I've been thinking about that. You can defeat me in a mock duel and take my wand."

Malfoy stared at him, mouth gaping. Harry had the impression Snape was doing something worse from the opposite side. He didn't look over. "Which one are you going to use, then?" Malfoy whispered.

"The Elder Wand," Harry said.

Snape made a strangled sound from his corner. Harry looked at him once, and then turned away, facing Malfoy. Nothing was more important than his slowly widening eyes, he thought, or the way his hands tightened on Harry's as though he never intended to let them go. Snape probably couldn't help sounding strangled, anyway, with the way that Nagini had bitten his throat, Harry thought charitably.

"You _can't_," Malfoy said. "The Elder Wand—it—it kills all its owners."

Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore used it for years, and no one knew he had it. I think I'll be safe as long as most people don't know I do, either." He tried a smile, wondering when Malfoy had stopped breathing, and reached for one of the pain potions. He knew that he hadn't done a very good job of healing the deep wound in Malfoy's side. "How many people are going to come close enough to realize that my wand is elder and not holly?"

"Very many people," Snape said, voice like the hiss Voldemort made in Harry's nightmares sometimes, "if the Boy-Who-Lived is involved. Do you know what questions reporters will ask if they think they can get away with it? Do you know how many of them will seek to touch your wand for themselves, and how many people will want to take it from you once they realize what it is? Better to use the Elder Wand to heal Mr. Malfoy's."

Draco's body twisted as if he would try to rise. Harry put his hands carefully on Draco's shoulders to hold him down and frowned at Snape. "Couldn't you have warned him before you spoke?" he demanded.

"Since that would also have involved speaking," Snape said, "no."

Harry rolled his eyes and looked down at Draco. He still wasn't facing the right direction to see Snape beyond the blue chalk circle, so Harry turned him so he could. He knew the moment he'd achieved what he wanted, because Draco's body went so still it felt stony. Harry measured out a dose of the pain potion into one of the cups he'd brought along and carefully didn't look.

At last, Draco said, "I thought you were dead."

"In the beginning," Snape said, and Harry saw a shadow move in the corner of his eyes as though he was reaching out a hand, "so did I."

Draco drew a deep breath, and then flinched. Harry held out the cup of pain potion. "This is about as much as you should take," he said. "Can you swallow it?"

Draco did, but he insisted on staring at Snape the entire time, and turning his head so he missed the rim of the cup more than once. Harry patiently pursued him with it, and shook his head when he thought about what he was doing. His friends wouldn't believe it if they could see him now, apothecary for Professor Snape and healer for Draco Malfoy.

He paused, struck by a new thought. He looked at the pain potion, and then at the way Malfoy was sitting up more easily now, as the agony from his wound passed, and cocked his head. The satisfaction that struck him at the sight was deeper, thicker, more blood-like, than the satisfaction he had felt when he killed one of the Death Eaters.

_I wonder…if I shouldn't try for Auror training after all. I already know that I don't fit in well with the Aurors who are there, and they might not teach me to control my violent instincts. But if I was a Healer, then I could still help people._

It was a thought.

"I would have helped you if I'd known that you were alive," Draco whispered, and his shoulders were stiff. Harry tried the pain potion again, but the cup was empty and Draco swiped it from his hands with one stiff motion. Harry caught the flying cup neatly and put it down, wondered if he should try to make Draco lie flat again, and changed his mind at the look on his face. "I could have done something for you."

"How, Draco, with you barely able to help yourself?" Snape didn't speak loudly, but what he said was enough to make Draco jerk to a stop. Harry saw his face turn white and his chin tremble, although he said nothing aloud. "No. I know what I want. No fair trial, no return to life at all, but a swift disappearance and a vanishing in the distance. I need the Resurrection Potion to help me do so, but when the brewing is done—"

"You'll go and leave us?" Draco swallowed, and Harry thought he could feel the emotions crashing around in him. He wondered if Snape could, too, and if he didn't care or just felt the need to ignore them. "Leave all the Slytherins who need you? Slughorn isn't a Head of House, compared to you."

"The Slytherins who did this to you?" Harry saw Snape's hand move again, and could imagine the way he was gesturing to Draco's wounds. "Potter, I think you will need to retrieve Skele-Gro as well. And I still insist that young Master Malfoy should be moved to Madam Pomfrey in the morning, if not sooner."

"The break is clean," Draco said roughly. "I know that much. I won't need Skele-Gro, only a few potions that will encourage the bone to heal." He leaned forwards. "There's a reason they did that. They're under a spell—"

"Are you, as well?"

Harry glanced up, and then tried to pretend he was busy counting the potions he'd stolen again. He didn't want to miss the answer, but he didn't want to discourage Draco from answering by paying too much attention, either.

He wondered, too, how Draco knew what a cleanly-broken bone felt like, and then if he really wanted to know.

Draco closed his eyes. Then he shook his head. "I don't remember enough about the spell, the day," he whispered. "I don't have any idea what spell it was, or why it made my friends react the way it did." He opened his eyes and leaned forwards again. "But, sir, if you were to come back, then you might find out."

Harry's hands tightened on the vials before he could catch himself. Luckily, nothing broke. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, though, because he didn't want to show them what was there. _Of course. The minute Snape comes back to life, Draco begs for his help. I'm inadequate as a researcher because a few weeks of searching with scattered details turns up nothing as yet. Of course._

For a moment, he felt bad, because Draco probably hadn't meant it like that; he simply wanted help. But he had given himself permission during the summer to feel as selfish as he wanted or need to, so he did.

Besides, it wasn't as if it would ever matter to Malfoy as long as Harry didn't say something aloud.

"I do not want to come back," Snape said, and there was a clean harshness in his voice, the same way that the break to Malfoy's bone was clean. "I have had enough of that kind of life, where I must do something I _despise _to gratify the whims of others. I will stay here. I have more than enough to occupy myself in the meantime. Potions I never got to brew. Learning what the world is like since the war. Finding a safe and secure place for myself where I can do as I wish."

_Tormenting more people, probably. _Snape might not want to be a teacher anymore, but Harry thought he would find it hard to go without victims.

"You wouldn't even _help _me?" Draco's voice was thin and thready. He turned his head and stared at the far wall as if he was trying to find a way through it, as if he couldn't stand to stay in the room with Snape. Harry sighed and began rooting among the pain potions again to find another one that Draco could take.

"I have helped you all I can," Snape said. "I am the one who needs help now, and Potter has been providing it."

Draco jolted and turned to face Harry. Harry blinked at him and tried to ignore the feeling gnawing at the base of his spine that whispered _he _would never have forgotten _Draco's_ presence in a room.

"I didn't know you could brew," Draco said, his voice stronger again, but still not normal. Not the voice of the clear-eyed boy who had offered to ally with him in the Forest, Harry thought, or stood with him against Klein.

_And when did I start thinking of him being like that as normal?_

"Not brewing," Harry said. "I got the ingredients for him, and I'm getting more ingredients for him because he can brew a potion that should tell me what the magenta color to my face means." He serenely ignored the way that Snape jolted, in turn, on the other side of the room. He wasn't going to lie to Draco, even if he lied to Harry in return.

"So you're helping Potter, but you won't help me," Draco said, and swiveled his head back to stare at Snape. "Is it because he saved the world? Do you still think you owe him a debt for that?"

"He shouldn't feel that way," Harry put in, coming up with the right pain potion. "In fact, I don't think he did. He was the one who practically told me that I owed him the Resurrection Potion and a way out of death. Draco, can you take this one?"

"That doesn't matter," Draco said, and then he moved to try and brace himself on his broken arm and gasped, all the color draining from his face.

"Yes, it does," Harry said dryly, and turned so that he could pour the bloody potion down Draco's throat. Draco accepted it, but swallowed with what sounded like the force of desperation, never taking his eyes from Snape's face.

Snape made a slow, massive, irritated gesture. "Draco, I have chosen to help with something limited and within my expertise. There is no potion I can brew that will make the other Houses treat Slytherin as they should be treated, or help you with what seems to be a miscast spell."

For some reason, Snape's voice got heavier on those last two words, and he was staring at Draco hard enough that Harry had to quell the impulse to move between them and shield Draco with his body. He turned his head to see if Draco knew what Snape was talking about, and he found Draco pressed back against the wall of the Shack, his breathing shallow.

Harry reached out, hesitated, and then pulled his hand away from Draco. "Draco?" he asked quietly.

Draco shook his head and returned to the present with the jerk. "That doesn't matter," he said, and now his voice was unnaturally loud. "I don't believe that you want to help Potter out of the goodness of your heart."

Snape sneered at him. "I do not. That goodness died in me when my body did, if I ever possessed it." _You did, _Harry thought, but no one had asked him, so he kept silent and held the next cup of pain potion up to Draco's lips again, watching as he swallowed it. He did wonder if he could be that interested in any patient's health if he became a Healer, or if he should acknowledge to himself that Draco was special and he would have a hard time valuing anyone else as much.

"Please," Draco whispered. "Just enough research to find out what this spell is and why my friends turned on me. My—my arm and my wand are both broken because of this. That's a high enough price, I think. I don't want to pay anymore."

"You know the price, Draco," Snape said, and Harry thought he was referring to some price Snape wanted him to pay before he continued. "This is the price of the past intruding into the present. You could not go through what you did during the war and expect to emerge totally unscathed. Neither could the others."

"But this isn't a result of the war," Harry said impatiently, leaning forwards, "unless you're going to say that someone cast the spell on Draco for what he did during the war. Can't you help for that much?"

Snape gave him a single hard look, and turned back to Draco. "I am not the one you should ask," he said, voice alive with the same silky, cutting menace he'd always used when catching Harry out after curfew. "Mr. Malfoy appeals to me for help, not you."

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, turning back to him. "Can you—I mean, do you think you need Snape to find out what the spell is? I can continue my research, and that should be enough, shouldn't it, if I step it up a bit and you tell me any other details that occur to you?" He hated to sound like he was pleading, but he hated even more the idea that his research wasn't good enough for Malfoy, that Malfoy had to seek out someone else's help because Harry simply _couldn't _help him.

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, and then turned back to Snape with a deliberate shake of his head. "Severus," he said, and Harry saw how still Snape went when he heard the name. "Please. You told me to use your name if I was ever in a situation that I couldn't get out of, and I think this is the one."

Snape waited so long that Harry felt the tension stretch between them like a taut string. But then Snape shook his head and turned his head to the side, his face distant and pale. "You do not know what you ask of me, Draco," he said. "If the Dark Lord's lingering magic was paining you, or the Dark Mark, or something Dumbledore had done, then yes. Those are pains I experienced myself. But not this. Not something that you have—"

Draco made a sharp little noise and curled in on himself. Snape didn't finish the sentence, but continued on darkly staring in his new direction. Harry crouched by Draco, murmuring to him, trying to get him to look up, but Draco had buried his head in his arms and was rocking back and forth.

Harry finally left a hand in place on Draco's back, to tell him in a few seconds if Draco looked up, and glared at Snape. "Does it cost you that much of your precious time, when he begs you like this?" he asked.

"When I am barely alive, and must hide in the Shack from the Ministry?" Snape's eyes shone like black diamonds. "Yes."

Harry stared, then sighed and once again began to search among the pain potions for a way of easing Draco's pain and stabilizing his broken arm. "Will you at least advise me on healing him?" he asked. He hoped he kept his voice calm, level, without a trace of the groveling that apparently annoyed Snape.

"Yes," Snape said.

Harry wanted to ask what the difference was between that and helping Draco with the spell that had made him need healing in the first place, but thought it best to shut his teeth on the words and work in silence.

_I thought it would be easier when Draco knew about Snape and Snape knew about Draco's problem. Silly me._


	15. Conversations

T

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Fifteen—Conversations _

"Please stay behind, Mr. Potter."

Harry turned around with a calm expression on his face. He couldn't say that he hadn't expected this. Klein had watched him throughout class today, even when she should have been watching other people cast spells or explain why they had used a charm that she hadn't specified they could use. He suspected he knew what this was about.

Klein, to his surprise, simply watched him for a moment with a blank face, and then sighed. "Can we sit down?" she asked.

Harry raised his eyebrows and sat with her in the chairs in front of her desk. She studied him intently for a few moments more, until Harry came to feel like an experiment in one of Slughorn's jars. Then she nodded and set her hands in front of her as though intending to drive a Muggle car through a narrow tunnel.

"I'm sorry," she said.

_Not what I was suspecting it was about, after all. _Harry had been sure she would tell him he was too violent in class and should never consider trying to get into the Auror program. He studied her now, and waited, but she said nothing, staring past him and through the door of the Defense classroom as though she heard her next group of students arriving. Harry finally sighed and said, "For what?" It was a politer conversation than he had planned to have with her, but she had started more politely, too.

"I snapped at you when I should have realized that you would be suffering much the same thing that I am," Klein whispered. "I am—rattled that Death Eaters came so close to the school on my watch, but you are their target. I faced Greyback along with other experienced Aurors, but you came to us and destroyed him. In each situation, you were the one in most danger."

Harry blinked. "I thought that was what you were most angry about. I mean, at first. That I wouldn't stay behind the walls of the school and let you protect me."

Klein shook her head and glanced at him. "I was anxious about that," she said. "But more angry that you did my job better than I could do it, and that you killed a dangerous werewolf that, yes, should never have made his way that far into the institution and whom we could not have held. You defended yourself. You killed those who would have murdered you." She gave a smile that looked so painful Harry made an involuntary gesture, and she stopped trying to give it. "You made me—an Auror trained to defend and to kill in self-defense—redundant."

"And as for me being a serial killer?" Harry asked. His voice snapped with sarcasm before he could stop himself. Of all the stupid things Klein had said and done, he thought that was the worst.

She winced and looked away from him. "That was another stupid move, born from anxiety. I had to name you something other than a better Auror than I was, successor to the training I should have absorbed better than I have."

"I'm _not _a better Auror," Harry said. _Shit, I thought I wouldn't care what other people thought about me after the war, but I reckon I have to when they're the ones actually involved in my safety and helping to guard me. _"I don't know the rules for keeping someone safe. I don't know shit about the laws that you have for bringing in prisoners alive and questioning them, as I've proved." Klein's head twitched towards him, her lips parting as if she was going to reprimand him for language, but Harry plunged relentlessly on. He was going to say this if it killed him. "And I'm thinking now I don't want to be an Auror, anyway. I want to be a Healer. You don't have to worry about competition or me killing prisoners that way."

Klein stared at him, her eyes round as full moons. Then she shook her head. "Olversvald would also be wroth with me if I scared you off applying to the Aurors because of my criticism," she said.

"Wroth with you?" Harry blinked. "Who _says _that?"

Klein's hand arched down as if reaching for her wand, but she pulled it back. "Do not consider a career as a Healer unless you are sure it is what you want, Mr. Potter," she said stiffly. "In many ways, your talent for violence could be an asset in the Aurors. You should not feel—pressured to change your mind because of my prejudice."

"Part of it's reasonable prejudice," Harry said. "Part's not, but I can ignore that part."

"Mr. Malfoy did not seem to think so."

Harry shrugged. "I was in a worse mood that day than I am now. And Malfoy was—with me in a way he's not been, since." He wondered for a moment if he'd said too much, but surely Klein had noticed that Malfoy had sat as far away from Harry as possible in the classroom and simply continued sitting there when told to partner him, until Klein gave up and assigned him to someone else.

He hadn't spoken to Harry since the night Harry retrieved the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's tomb and repaired the hawthorn wand. In fact, he had snatched the wand back from Harry and marched away, despite the wound in his side that still had to hurt him, and the broken arm hanging immobile at his side, and left Harry with dying words on his lips and Snape's heavy glare on his back.

_Fuck, Draco. What the fuck else can I do? I'm looking, but I haven't found a solution yet. I'm not Snape, and I'll never be him, and if you're blaming me for that, then you can find someone else to help you research, because I can change and try to improve, but I'll never be anyone other than me._

He glanced up to find Klein watching him with a speculative look on her face, and sat up, shaking his head. He didn't have the right to expose Draco's secrets to Klein, or to anyone really, despite how good it would have felt to talk about some things. "You ought to know I plan to go into the Forbidden Forest tonight," he said.

"For what reason?" Klein was looking at him now with a polite air that Harry found infuriating, but he clenched his teeth and reminded himself that he had agreed to this, to let the Aurors track his movements and guard him. He couldn't go back on his promises every time he found them inconvenient.

"To talk to the wolfwere," he said. "The Death Eaters destroyed his children, and it's still hard to tell why. He ought to know that at least some of them are dead and that they won't be coming back to hurt him anymore."

Klein frowned, as if thinking about the amount of marking she had to do on the essays she'd just assigned, and then sighed. "If you agree to carry a Portkey with you to take you to safety in case of danger," she said, "you can go."

Harry nodded. "All right. But can you get someone from the Ministry to make the Portkey that quickly? I thought it took special permission and a whole department was supposed to look over the requests, and—"

Klein pulled out a silver pin that was holding up her hair and handed it over, silently. "The keyword is this," she said, and pulled over a scrap of parchment to write something down. "Do _not _read it aloud," she added sternly, handing it to Harry. "Memorize it and then make sure you say it only when you want to go."

Harry looked carefully at the paper, and then snorted. _Pumpkin bread, _yes, that was a good term, one that he was hardly likely to say casually. "Thank you, Professor Klein," he said, Vanishing the parchment and standing up. He hesitated for a moment, then slid the silver pin into his Gryffindor tie. "I am trying to do the best I can, and I know that doesn't always result in the best things for the Aurors, but I don't want to sabotage them or anything like that."

"I see." Klein leaned back in her chair and shook her head. "Go speak to the wolfwere as quickly as you can, Potter. Some Death Eaters may return to the Forbidden Forest, but perhaps not for a time, since they must know by now that Greyback is dead."

_I don't know if Greyback was the one giving them orders, _Harry thought as he walked out of the Defense classroom and headed for lunch. _But yes, whoever is ordering them around has to be more cautious than he was._

* * *

"Wolfwere," Harry called out. He was standing in the same clearing where they had met the first time, shivering. He cast a Warming Charm, and then wondered if creatures in the Forest could feel even that minor magic.

He ended up shrugging irritably and pushing his wand back into his pocket. They might, but if Harry thought about how cold he was all the time, that would also distract from some of the alertness that he might use to defend himself.

Golden eyes opened across the small pool from him, and Harry stifled a yelp. He leaned his back against a tree and nodded to the wolfwere as he came forwards, in the mostly-human form he adopted. He ended up sinking onto his haunches and staring at Harry in silence for a long moment before he spoke.

"Have you found out who killed my children?"

Harry shook his head. "As far as we can tell, the ones who killed your children were the ones in the clearing that night," he said. "But the werewolf who probably ordered them to attack is dead. And he might have been the one who ordered the death of your pups, because he didn't want other wolves around who could transform into humans."

The wolfwere cocked his head. "What is being done with the meat of the werewolf?"

"You mean his body?" Harry carefully ignored some of the images that had come to mind when he heard that question. "I think the Ministry took it. They usually do take werewolf bodies to study, I think."

The wolfwere stared at him. Harry looked at the ground and shrugged. "I know, because I had a friend who was a werewolf and died in the war," he mumbled. "The Ministry wanted his body. I took it away from them and made sure he had a burial. But no one wanted Greyback."

"I wanted it," said the wolfwere. "I wanted to eat of it. That would mean that I might see his memories, dream his dreams. I might learn why he wanted to kill my pups, if he was the one who wanted to."

"Well," Harry said, trying to imagine the Ministry's reaction if he owled them demanding a steak from Greyback's shoulder or something of the kind, "I could ask them if they would let some of it go. But they might not, and it's not something I thought to ask about, because I didn't know about it."

The wolfwere made a gesture with one hand, which he brought back around in front of him and held unnaturally still on the ground in the next second. "You have done something," he said. "Will you do more?"

"About your pups?" Harry shook his head. "I think there's still someone out there, someone who told the werewolf and the others what to do, but I don't know if they knew anything about your pups."

The wolfwere showed his teeth, and Harry raised his eyebrows and stood still. Maybe his scent showed fear, but he was trying not to show it in his body language. "I will keep a guard," the wolfwere said. "I will find the ones who killed them, if they come back. They carry a foulness on their left side. I can scent it. I will find them."

"A foulness—oh, right," Harry said, thinking of the Dark Mark. He wondered for a moment why the wolfwere hadn't reacted to Malfoy like that, but he was probably smart enough to realize that Malfoy had been on Harry's side.

_At least, he is sometimes._

Harry shook the thought away. Another thought, for another time. He couldn't do everything at once. Another thing he had tried to teach himself this summer.

"If I guard," the wolfwere said, "you will come, and listen to me. Other people will not. And they will kill me if I go to the school."

Harry blinked at him. He seemed to discuss being killed with more calmness than Harry thought it warranted. On the other hand, some of his children were dead already, and he lived in a world where, every day, he hunted and killed his food. Perhaps the fact of death mattered to him less and was less important because of that.

"Yes," he said. "I'll come back and listen to you." He hesitated, wondering how well the wolfwere could keep track of time in the human way, and then glanced around at the forest and had an inspiration. "What if we meet every time the moon changes?" he asked, pointing to where the half-full moon was rising out of the trees. "When it begins to lose more of its light, then I'll come to you and we can discuss again."

The wolfwere glanced up at the moon, baring his teeth again as though the light was his enemy, but then dipped his head in a short, choppy bow. "As you will," he said. "In the time between, you will guard in your walls. And get me a piece of the werewolf's body."

"I'll ask," Harry said, and the wolfwere dipped his head again and loped into the woods. Harry thought he saw a small blur and ripple as his body changed shape into a wolf's again, but he wasn't sure, and when he called his name tentatively, there was no response.

Harry stood there for a moment, sighing, and then turned and slogged determinedly towards the Shrieking Shack. If Snape was right, then he ought to have some kind of potion by now that could determine what the magenta color to Harry's face meant, and Harry could think of no better cover for his visit to Snape than the Aurors already knowing he was in the Forest to visit the wolfwere.

* * *

"Drink it all at once."

Harry eyed the vial of potion in front of him with resignation. Of course Snape had come up with something thick and blue and soupy that smelled of rotten cheese. But he held his nose and swallowed it, reminding himself that Skele-Gro probably tasted worse.

His stomach cramped and twisted, and he almost spit out either the potion or the food he'd eaten for dinner that night, he wasn't sure. He sat down with a thump and leaned his back against the wall of the Shack, concentrating on his breathing and the rhythm of his stomach pounding up from his belly. One, two, _cramp, _one, two, three, _cramp._

"It should start working soon."

Harry nodded in acknowledgment of Snape's words, but kept his eyes closed, because he wasn't sure what would happen if he opened them. The room might be spinning dizzily around, too, and then he would vomit, and then Snape would feel his hard work had been wasted.

Which he would be right about, really, Harry thought, giddily pursuing his thoughts in another, different spiral. Harry had brought him the ingredients, but he couldn't muster a tenth of the brewing skills that Snape could. Which might be a problem if he was applying to be a Healer. On the other hand, Healers didn't brew most of their own potions unless they had a delicate and sensitive medical issue, because they didn't have _time_. They had mediwizards to do it for them.

"What did you say, Potter?" Harry heard a rustle as Snape bent closer on the other side of the circle.

Harry swallowed the words and the giggle that wanted to accompany them and shook his head. He had said, "Will you be my mediwizard?" but Snape didn't need to hear that. He needed to hear the reactions to the potion, what it was doing to Harry. Harry spent a long time breathing deeply and steadily, clearing his throat and his stomach out.

Then he opened his eyes. "Has my face changed color, sir?" he asked Snape.

Snape rocked back on his heels, staring at something. Harry assumed it was his face, but Snape's eyes were focused in an odd way, as if he was staring through Harry's cheeks rather than at them. "No," Snape said at last, abstracted. "I thought from the beginning that such an idiosyncratic reaction would need time to fade, and it seems I was right."

"Right." Harry waited. "Er," he said at last. "So what happened?"

"It is—" Snape made a half-helpless gesture with one extended hand. "It seems that, once again, you manage to baffle the experts, Potter," he murmured. "Your face color indicated, I thought, that some traits of your personality would be exaggerated. And I thought those were more likely to be the protectiveness and the sense of territoriality that werewolves usually exhibit when not committed to pushing away their nature, as Lupin did, or serving a more powerful master, as Greyback did."

Harry controlled the urge to point out that Snape had already told him all that. He was finally getting _answers, _he didn't want to discourage that. "All right, sir. But what appeared that told you it's more than that?"

"There is a glow in the air around you," Snape said quietly. "It would be pure silver if the indicator potion had been wrong and you had the lycanthropy infection after all. It would be blue if it showed only strongly influenced personality traits. It would be white if the blood had no effect on you."

"And what color is it?" Harry asked, hoping that he kept the whine from his voice that wanted to creep in.

"Green," Snape replied, finally meeting his eyes instead of looking in a different direction. "It's green."

"Wonderful," Harry said dryly, and a brief, answering smile flashed on Snape's face. Harry shook his head. "Anyway. Anything you can remember about what that might mean?"

"Out of the colors I mentioned," Snape said, as brisk as if he was teaching a Potions class to brew a Boil Cure, "it is closest to blue, and therefore I still believe that your personality has been influenced. But blue and yellow combine to make green." Harry didn't roll his eyes at the obviousness of that answer, though he came close. "I will have to research what the yellow could mean, and for that, I will need some of the books that you can find in Slughorn's quarters."

"The library wouldn't have them?" Harry asked. He didn't think that he could set up another spell laying blame on the Slytherins this time. The last one he had used had been a fairly complicated glamour to fool Slughorn's wards, and had resulted in three weeks of detention for all the Slytherins. But it would look suspicious if that happened twice.

"They are personal copies of Dark books, so no," Snape said, dry in turn. "And I need my notes and marginalia, not the books themselves." He paused, then said, "Potter, how are you going to take them from Slughorn? I need them, but if that would put you in danger, I don't wish to do it."

_Because that would endanger his flow of ingredients and news from the outside world, _Harry reminded himself, before he could taunt Snape for caring. He shrugged a bit. "I'll ask Slughorn if I can borrow them, if you give me specific titles. He'll be thrilled to think that I want to improve my brewing skills."

Snape gave him such a long stare that Harry thought he would mention he'd had wards on his books against lies, too. Instead, Snape grunted and nodded. "That should work," he said. "You are more resourceful than I thought, Potter."

"Draco doesn't think so," Harry muttered, and then flushed, although Snape probably couldn't see it under the magenta color of his face. _Well, one unguarded utterance was always going to get out._

He started to apologize, but Snape held up his hand. "I would not judge the general level of your skill, either as a researcher or a brewer, by what Draco requires," he said dryly. "He has rather specific requirements."

"But I promised to help him, and I can't," Harry said, climbing to his feet. "That's what bothers me. If I'd researched further into the spell, or faster, or understood more of what I'd read, or had more of an idea about what I'm looking for, then I could have done something more." He sighed and shook his head, clearing out as much as he could of the bloody ideas. "What are the titles, sir?"

Snape was still looking at him. His mouth opened once or twice as if he would speak, and Harry thought he heard him mutter something about, "Why should I?"

"Sir?" Harry asked, studying him. If there was a chance that he might persuade Snape, even accidentally, to help Draco like Draco had wanted, then he would stand here for the rest of the night if he had to.

Snape looked up at him, and sighed. "You could do better if you knew more about what you were looking for," he said. "So you said. Mr. Potter—I did not want to mention this, but I see no reason to assist Mr. Malfoy's delusions _or _to help him conceal what he is covering up. He cast that spell himself."

Harry sat down. He didn't realize he was planning to until he was sitting on the floor of the Shack, and then he stared at his hands and blinked and looked back up at Snape and looked at the wall and blinked. Then he shook his head. "He couldn't be," he said. "He couldn't possibly have done that."

"Do you accuse me of lying, then?" Snape's voice cooled, and Harry thought he was glad that they had stepped back from a moment that could have become uncomfortably emotional for both of them. "I would be happy to answer such a charge from you with proof, Mr. Potter, but sadly, I do not have many of my _books _here. The ones you intend to fetch for me will contain some proof that will add to what I am saying, but not all of it."

"Why would he cast it?" Harry whispered, staring at Snape. "He wouldn't _want _his friends to turn against him, or to put himself in physical danger." He tried to think of an explanation that involved devious plots to stay out of Azkaban, but that was ridiculous. Draco had his freedom now. If this had been a mistake like that, then he could have explained it to Harry from the beginning.

_Besides, getting out of Azkaban because you're dead isn't a smart plan._

He tensed, thinking about sixth year and wondering if Draco was always smart when he was under stress. Some of the plans he had come up with kill Dumbledore were incredibly risky because someone else could touch the cursed necklace or drink the poisoned mead. They were superficially intelligent on the surface, but not much so in practical reality.

"Almost certainly," Snape said, "he cast it because he had done something that betrayed his past or his secrets unacceptably in front of the other students. That spell is a version on a Memory Charm, Mr. Potter. It replaces one specific incident with crystal-clear 'memories' of what the caster wants the victim to remember, and the victim doesn't question them as much as they would question the blurry remnants of an _Obliviate. _Of course, this spell is also less powerful in being less extensive, in covering a lesser period of time."

"Such as a single night, perhaps?" Harry whispered.

"Almost certainly, Mr. Potter." Snape's voice descended a little. "We do not yet know why he cast it. He may have had a good reason."

"But why not admit that from the beginning?" Harry spat, standing up. "It would have been so much _easier _to help him if I knew what spell it was, if he was asking for help with a mistake instead of this mysterious persecution—"

"And betray his broken pride to someone who had always been an enemy and a rival?" Snape stared into his eyes, both eyebrows rising. "Come, Mr. Potter, you know better than _that_."

Harry paused, feeling his anger rise off him like steam. Then he sat back down. "Can you write down the titles of the books you need?" he asked, as calmly as he could manage. "I'll go fetch them and bring them back tomorrow night."

_And tomorrow, Malfoy, you and I are having a little _talk.


	16. The Dark Lord's Torturer

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Sixteen—The Dark Lord's Torturer_

"Malfoy! We have an appointment."

Malfoy hadn't come to Potions that morning, or Transfiguration. The other Slytherins looked smug and walked back and forth with expressions on their faces that Harry would have liked to punch off them. Slughorn looked unconcerned, McGonagall sighed and said that she thought Mr. Malfoy was in the infirmary, but no one except Harry seemed to think that his missing two classes was weird.

Well. _Harry _did. And now he had finally tracked the idiot down near the Room of Requirement, which Harry had told him was a safe place to stay for the time being. If it was the bedroom he had told Malfoy to make it into, with a door that would only open to someone who didn't intend him harm, he ought to be protected enough.

Malfoy had flinched and whined when Harry mentioned the room, no doubt thinking about the time he had spent inside it repairing the Vanishing Cabinet and then how he had nearly died in it during the Fiendfyre episode, but he had moved in. Harry had been glad to see that sometimes his practicality could trump his stupidity, after all.

_But not when it came to this little matter of a miscast spell._

Malfoy kept walking as if he didn't hear him. Perhaps he thought he could get away with that, up here in the seventh-floor corridor with only a few portraits watching him. Well, he couldn't. Harry stepped up right behind him and grabbed his shoulder.

Malfoy spun around, cradling his arm against his side, and hissed, "That was my broken arm, you idiot!"

"No, it isn't," Harry said, his eyes on the sling that covered the arm Malfoy was using to hold his supposedly wounded one. "Now, stop acting like an idiot and actually be sensible for once in your life, can't you?"

Malfoy straightened up. His face was white, except for the thin line of color where his lips were pressed together, but he faced Harry instead of bolting, and that was a good start. "I don't know what you're talking about," he hissed.

"I know that you cast that spell that made your friends hate you," Harry said. "I even know that you probably didn't want to tell me that because you had your pride." He managed to say that without spitting or snarling, he noted. _Good_. "What I don't know is why you told me that someone else did, and sent me on a series of wild chases through the research books. I could have helped more if I had known the truth of that night."

Draco stared at him with even his lips pale now. Then he whirled around and tried to run towards the Room of Requirement. A wooden door appeared, marking it, and Harry doubted that he would be able to get through it if he tried to follow Draco in there now.

Which meant it was up to him to make sure that Draco didn't get in there or get a chance to barricade the door behind him.

"_Levicorpus!_" Harry shouted, and felt the magic cut and curl and charge through him, snaring Draco and tugging him off the floor. In moments he was dangling with his robes falling about his head. His struggles were so wild that Harry cast a spell that made him turn back over so he could see. Maybe one of his former friends had done something to him and now he had a panic attack when he couldn't see. Harry didn't want to be cruel.

But Draco had already put off this conversation for too long, and he had lied, and Harry was tired of being made a dupe of. He also wanted to help, and keep Draco from being beaten up by anyone else, if Draco would just _let _him.

"Now," he said, as Draco stared down at him from what probably felt like a revolving, invisible top made of air. "I'll let you down if you promise to listen instead of running. I need your help to figure out what we should do."

Draco's nostrils flared, and he gave a bright, false smile. "Right," he said. "Let me down, and I promise to stay there."

"I learned over the summer to tell when a lot of people were lying," Harry said conversationally. "Reporters who promised that they wouldn't print my story in their papers, for example, and then who did. People who wanted a moment of my time, and then it turned out that they wanted a lot more. Ron and Hermione, when they pretended that they weren't grieving at the moment. They always were. Try again."

Draco glared at him. "You have no _proof _that I did that," he said. "If you tried to prove it, no one would believe you."

"Of course not," Harry said. He hoped that his calm stance and comfortable grip on his wand hid how hard his heart was actually pounding. "It's a silly thing to accuse anyone of, because it's a silly thing to do. But it would mean that someone would have to recognize that there's a spell, and they would start trying to figure out how they could free you of it. What would happen if they recognized it as a spell that you cast yourself?"

Draco shut his eyes and turned his head away. "It doesn't work like that," he whispered. "It doesn't behave like that."

"Really?" Harry cocked his head and gave Draco a skeptical smile. "I hope that you'll excuse me not believing that without proof. I should have demanded proof in the first place, but I don't know what you have could have given me."

"Why should I have to give _you_ anything?" Draco was snarling at him suddenly, his expression a respectable match for the wolfwere's, even if on a face that was more human. "You forced yourself into this. I wouldn't have asked for your help in the first place if I didn't _have _to have a story so you would leave me alone."

"And then you could have done something else later, once you were out of the immediate situation, instead of encouraging me to believe the lie," Harry said. "Told me I was mistaken. Gone to someone else for help—"

"What the _fuck_ do you think I was trying to do with Snape?" Draco leaned forwards despite his precarious position in the air, his eyes blazing. "If he would have helped me, then I could have dispensed with your little knightly heroics!"

"He was the one who told me the truth," Harry said. "He suspected it from the beginning. Why should he help you when you did it to yourself?"

"It wasn't _like_ that!" Draco's face was a ferocious blaze, and his voice rose to something that Harry would have called an indignant squeak, except it was worse than that. "You don't—you don't know about the kinds of things I had to do during the war!"

"I know you tortured people," Harry said quietly.

Draco jerked, but didn't say anything. Harry decided that he might as well continue. He couldn't remember how much of this Draco might already know, so he would tell everything, and hope that Draco would see that Harry was willing to make himself vulnerable by laying out secrets, if Draco needed that.

"I had a link to Voldemort. Sometimes I could control what I saw, and sometimes I couldn't. I tried to use it to spy on him sometimes, but it didn't work that well. I know that he had you torture people. I know that you didn't want to. And I know that when we were captured and brought to the Manor, you lied to save our lives and Bellatrix was the one who tortured Hermione. She's dead. And Greyback was the one who brought us there, and I killed Greyback. There's no one there I want revenge on, including you. Are you going to tell me the truth, or are you going to dangle there and deny everything to a person who could have helped you better from the beginning if he knew the truth?"

Draco shut his eyes. Then he said, "You might know that, but you don't know the truth of what I did to them that night. And I'm not going to tell you out in the corridor."

Harry knew he had won a partial agreement from Draco then, and, smarter than Snape probably would have expected him to be, he didn't press for more right now. He nodded and lowered Draco to the floor. Draco brushed his robes off, though being hoisted in the air should have got the dust off, if anything, and led Harry to the wooden door.

He paused there with one hand on it, and turned his head to stare at Harry. Harry studied the silver chasings around the handle and hinges of the door instead of meeting his eyes. "Have you ever tortured anyone?" Draco asked.

"Yes," Harry said, and met his eyes. "I used the Cruciatus Curse on Amycus Carrow."

"The _Carrows._" Draco tilted his head back, and his laughter was harsh in his throat, choking the spit that he probably wanted to send out. "You can't count that. You can't pretend that you're sorry about that, not when they deserved to be tortured for everything they did to kids here."

"Most of the people you tortured were Death Eaters, too," Harry said, and leaned close to him, until Draco's eyes had to stop darting everywhere and focus on his face. "Are you going to say that you don't feel bad about torturing them and that means there's no reason to hide your secret?"

After a single moment of staring contest, Draco whirled around and opened the door. Harry followed him into the room and glanced around for a few seconds, noting the escape routes and the position of the furniture in case he had to fight. Eventually he hoped that he would be able to overcome that instinct, but right now, that would be asking too much of himself.

The walls were a deep, dark grey, which Harry thought was depressing but which Draco probably found comforting, or why imagine them that color? Harry thought he could see dim shades of green and red and black out of the corner of his eye, too. He half-shrugged as he noted the huge fireplace and the huge bed and the comfortable, cushy chairs around a central table that probably mimicked the one in the dining room at Malfoy Manor. Nothing less than he would have expected, and why shouldn't Malfoy have what he wanted when the Room provided everything?

Harry stood there and waited for Malfoy to choose a seat, while Malfoy did the same thing with Harry. He bit his lip several times, and finally took one of the chairs near the fireplace. Harry took the one facing it. There was more distance between them than he would have liked, but he could hear Malfoy, and he didn't think the other boy was about to bolt out the door. There was no place out there safer than this.

"So." Draco leaned forwards and stared down at his feet, his hair hanging around his face. "We were talking, that night around the fire, about our futures and the war, and trying to decide whose parents were going to prison and whose—weren't."

Harry settled back in the chair at once, and said nothing. He thought too many questions would only discourage Draco from repeating the story, and he had waited long enough to hear it.

"I knew that my parents were in the most danger." Draco swallowed, and then swallowed again, and licked his lips as though he assumed they needed more moisture than they were getting. "I couldn't stop myself from boasting, though, that I had done worse than any of them during the war and got away with it.

"Pansy challenged me. She seemed to think that declaring you should be thrown to the Dark Lord was the worst thing ever. And Greg said that Vincent casting the Fiendfyre was the worst thing, and that he would have received the Dementor's Kiss for that if he was still alive. It was—a weird sort of competition." A painful smile spasmed across Draco's face. "We compete in everything, all the time. But that was the strangest."

Harry merely nodded. He thought he could see it, he thought he could imagine it: the group of Slytherins grouped around a bonfire in the middle of the night, drunkenly yelling at each other, tossing challenges of crimes and insults back and forth.

"So I told them I'd tortured people, and they didn't believe me. They all thought I was too soft for it. Pansy tried to make them leave me alone, but Blaise took the lead and got right up in my face, yelling that he didn't believe me, that I was just making up lies to make myself look better, that I would have gone to Azkaban for it if anyone knew, and someone would have found out—"

Draco took a deep, quick, painful breath, and followed it with words on the exhale that Harry hardly heard. "So I tortured him."

Harry thought he _hadn't _heard right, for a moment. He blinked and stared at Draco, but he just went on staring at the floor, saying nothing. So Harry cleared his throat, and breathed out himself, as if reluctant to disturb the silence of the room, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." But Draco didn't look up to make sure of that, just went on with his eyes burning holes in his own boots. "I—I tortured Blaise. I cast the Cruciatus, and then when he was writhing on the ground, I added a curse Aunt Bellatrix taught me, one that made all your bones feel like they were being wrenched out of your sockets."

Again Harry cleared his throat, and again he found nothing to add. He waited.

Draco looked up at him, his eyes wide and tearless. "I overdid it. But he was screaming, and I was laughing, and for a minute I felt so good that I didn't care. I was worse than any of them. I won the competition, I won the game.

"But then I saw Pansy backing away from me, and Greg looking like he wanted to vomit, and Theodore already doing it, and I realized what I'd done. It was one thing talking about doing that to people none of us would ever see again and none of us liked anyway, but it was another thing to do it to one of them. They'd remember, and I'd lose all my friends.

"I panicked. I tried to cast a spell that would remove their memory of that night and just replace it with one of Blaise beating me up. I didn't mind that they thought I was weak, as long as they didn't think I would hurt one of them."

Harry nodded slowly. He could understand now what had happened, why Draco would go through anything he needed to erase his friends' memories.

But.

"Something went wrong?" he asked quietly. "Them forgetting what happened that night shouldn't have meant they started hating you."

"Two things went wrong." Draco lifted his head and gasped in a desperate gulp of air. "First, I was thinking too hard about how they would hate me and never be my friends again, and that got wound up in the spell and ended up giving them memories of different things to hate me for. Second, I was thinking about erasing my memory, too, but part of me was afraid I would torture someone again if I did that, if I forgot about how awful it felt. So I said the incantation partway through, to include me, and then I stopped and tried to start it over again."

Harry winced in sympathy. Maybe it was because that kind of thing had happened in "demonstrations" last year to kids at Hogwarts, but their professors had emphasized over and over again this year what could happen if you tried to change a spell without completing it.

"There was this—burst of power—that knocked me out," Draco whispered. "And then I came to, and they did, and they started all their stories about the different things I supposedly did to make them hate me."

Harry nodded. He could understand it better now, he thought. Intent fucked with magic, a whole lot. Hermione had told him that if he'd walked into the Forbidden Forest intending to do anything other than die, he probably would have survived without trouble when Voldemort cast that second Killing Curse at him, and the Horcrux in him would have survived, too.

"All right," he said. "So that makes things different. You can tell me the spell you used, and put the memories in a Pensieve, and that means we can look at the effects of the spell instead looking for the spell itself."

Draco jerked as though Harry had spitted him or something. He stared at him and shook his head. "Why would you?" he whispered.

"Try to help you?" Harry sighed. "Because you don't deserve what happened to you any more than Blaise deserved what happened to him. And you need to have this spell undone, and they need to have this spell undone." He thought he understood now why Draco's behavior had varied so much in school and the Forest. Sometimes, when he was near his friends, he fell under the same spell and forgot part of what had happened, as he had wished. When he was away from them, then his memory became clearer and sharper, and he could focus on people other than his former friends.

"I still think Snape would be the better choice," Draco whispered. "You don't know anything about magical theory."

"You like sabotaging yourself, don't you?" Harry shook his head when Draco paled. "That wasn't fair. Sorry. I don't know about the magical theory, but you do, and I have a whole load of raw power. You can tell me what to do, and I'll lend you the power to help you." He found himself smiling. "Just like we're already doing with that bloody Triad project in Charms."

Draco closed his eyes and lowered his head. Harry didn't think there was a tear in his eye, but there was something close to crying in the way his body shivered and relapsed, and in the tearing way he drew his breath in.

Then he said, "What happens if I make a mistake? I've told you what I _thought_ happened, but that doesn't mean it actually did. Professor Snape would say that I didn't deserve to be trying this on my own again anyway, in case it ends up being a mistake and I make a—a worse mistake trying to correct it."

"Like what?" Harry asked, and then flinched simultaneously with Draco. He could imagine several things with that phrase, and none of them sounded like things that they wanted to happen.

He leaned across the distance between them and took Draco's hand, which was awkward but doable. He wondered if the Room of Requirement had adjusted things when they weren't looking, since he could have sworn that he was further away from Draco than that when he sat down.

"Listen," he said quietly. "I can try to help you. I'll do all I can. And you can talk to Professor Snape if you want an expert opinion. But I think—I think some of this work _should _be yours, so that you can be the one to figure out what went wrong and put it back together again."

Draco sneered at him, and again there should have been tears in his eyes from the sound of his words and there weren't. "Because I was the one who made it go wrong in the first place, of course. You sound very sure that my friends deserve their revenge on me."

Harry sighed. "No, not like that. I mean that it'll content your pride better if you're the one who comes up with the solution."

Draco paused, then tugged his hand fretfully out of Harry's. "I'm not some child who needs to be humored, Potter. You don't know much at all about who I am and what I want, whatever you _thought _you saw through the Dark Lord's eyes."

"I don't know everything," Harry replied quietly, and met his eyes. "But I know that you're someone who suffered from a miscast spell, and suffers from other people's suffering." Draco started to reply, but Harry held up a hand. "And you don't need to tell me that Slytherins are selfish and don't care about other people's good opinions. You cared enough about your friends' to erase their memories. And as long as they're convinced you did something evil to them, then they're going to go after you. When they're free of the spell, you'll be free of that particular danger."

Draco watched him intently. Harry couldn't figure out why until he said, "Most people would walk away from me after that, when they find out that I've lied to them. Why aren't you?"

Harry smiled a little. "Because I've made mistakes, too," he said, thinking of Sirius. "Mistakes that hurt people, although mine were worse. So. I think I can forgive you, although I don't know if Blaise will, once he has his memory back."

"I never _meant _to do that." Draco's voice was like a foghorn in the dark, low and remorseful. "I never did."

"I know that," Harry said gently. "But I'm not the one you tortured. Do you want to go through with this knowing that it might mean you have your friends back, but at least one of them will still hate you? Because your intent influenced the spell so much last time, I don't think we dare take the chance that, _this _time, you'll go in without a much clearer vision of what you want."

"You think—you think you'll have to cast another spell to replace this one," Draco whispered. "That's it not a matter of finding what wrong and removing it."

Harry blinked in response. "I never considered that," he said. "As you pointed out, I don't know enough about magical theory to know what's required yet. But yes, maybe we would have to do that. I know changing Memory Charms is complicated enough that they usually can't just remove them, and that's the _ordinary _ones."

Draco swallowed through what was obviously a dry throat. "And you think Professor Snape would help me?"

"If he knows that you acknowledge that it was your own fault in the first place, maybe. Or if I ask him," Harry added reluctantly. Maybe Snape would do it as a favor for getting him his books.

"Then we can try." Draco climbed to his feet and paced back and forth. "I'm sick of this. I'm sick of living like this. I wish—I wish something had been different." He rubbed at his stiff arm.

"I know," Harry said. "Now. Decide when we're going to meet, preferably at a time when we can disguise it to look like we're meeting to study Charms, because I doubt that you want most people knowing about this."

Draco paused and gave him a single, intense glance. Harry stared back, raising his eyebrows. He had done all he reasonably thought he could to give Draco a fighting chance, but he expected an objection to his tone or his words anyway, because that was Draco.

Instead, Draco said, "Perhaps someday, I'll be able to say 'thank you.'"

"Perhaps someday," Harry echoed, and smiled at him. If his smile was a little dry, well, that was him. "In the meantime, all I ask is that you don't lie to me again. It causes too many problems."

"No more lies," Draco whispered. "No more lies to you, ever again." His eyes burned. He opened his mouth as if he would say something else, and then whirled and stalked to the far side of the room.

Harry eyed him, then shrugged and retreated to his own side of the room, the one that had the door that led out.


	17. Ever a Busy Life

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Seventeen-Ever a Busy Life_

"Did you find your parents?"

Harry had seen the answer in Hermione's eyes before he'd asked the question, but he'd hoped desperately for a different answer anyway, and so he asked. She looked away from him and stuck a spoonful of porridge in her mouth to close her mouth. But the shake of her head, that almost got her hair in the porridge, was answer enough.

Harry nodded to Ron, who had his hand on Hermione's back. Ron nodded back and leaned over to say something to Hermione in a low voice. A moment later, they left the Great Hall, Hermione with her shaking hands clenched in front of her. Harry watched them go, then sighed and turned back to his breakfast.

"Do you think she'll ever find them?"

Harry blinked and turned to Ginny. He hadn't realized she was sitting so close, or that she had overheard. She gave him a tentative smile, and Harry nodded back and smiled in return. "I hope so," he said. "She'll never give up searching until she does. I don't know if she can undo the Memory Charm when she does, though. Sometimes those charms last forever no matter what you do, like the ones that Lockhart did, or the ones that backfired on _him_."

"Yeah, but he got an unusual faceful of them," Ginny pointed out, crunching through her toast in a pointed manner. "Not an ordinary one. I'm sure Hermione was careful to only cast the ordinary one on her parents."

"Maybe." Harry licked his lips. He hadn't thought of it before, and he wondered how he hadn't, because of course that was the perfect disguise for doing research about the spell on Malfoy's friends. "Do you know where they keep all the books about Memory Charms in the library? Are some in the Restricted Section?"

Ginny tossed him a puzzled glance. "I thought you would know. Hermione told me you were in the library researching all sorts of things, and some of them would have included the books on Memory Charms."

Harry looked around as if to watch for people nearby, and then leaned towards Ginny and lowered his voice. "I found some. But not the ones I want most, the ones that talk about how to undo unusual Memory Charms. You know, on people who aren't wizards. Or the ones that you cast on yourself, like the ones on Lockhart." That was _kind _of Malfoy's problem. His desire to forget what he'd done had interfered with the spell he cast on his friends, after all.

Ginny twisted a strand of hair around her finger and tugged it out straight. "Who knew that that stupid essay I had to write for detention would come in useful after all?" she muttered.

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded. He could feel his heart beating fast, and tried to calm it with an irritated little breath. He had enough to worry about without jumping about like a frantic frog because someone told him something that _might _help.

"I had to write an essay for detention the year before last about where all the books in the library were," Ginny said, standing decisively. "McGonagall told me that it would help me remember what a library was for."

Harry blinked. "What were you doing that got you a detention with McGonagall?" Most of the time, everyone in Gryffindor Tower would have heard about it if their Head of House was displeased with one of them.

Ginny flushed. "Never mind," she mumbled, and Harry smirked and followed her to the door of the Great Hall, only snatching a piece of toast and a banana to take with him. He did feel eyes on his back, and turned around, as if casually, in the doorway to find Malfoy looking at him. Malfoy had been watching him all morning, as if wondering when Harry would start to blurt out his secrets to everyone.

Harry tried to nod to him reassuringly. That only made Malfoy recoil and shove his chair back from the table, stalking towards him. Harry sighed and signaled Ginny to wait, taking a hasty bite of the toast in case Malfoy spelled it out of his hand to hit the floor or something.

Malfoy stopped in front of him and stared at Harry, vibrating a little in place, as though someone was shaking the floor under him. Harry gazed back blandly, swallowing the corner of toast that seemed stuck in his throat. He was glad that Malfoy's eyes didn't have the dull glaze in them that seemed usual when he was around his former friends, although he didn't entirely trust the clear gleam they _did _have.

"Surely you have better ways to spend your time than hanging about with your girlfriend and going off to snog in a corner?" Malfoy drawled.

Ginny was the one who answered, folding her arms and leaning against the side of the doorway as though she assumed they had all the time in the world. She didn't see or ignored the way Harry shook his head at her. "At least he _has _people to spend time with, Malfoy. Don't think that no one's noticed the way you sit down your table from the rest of your friends and cringe if they look at you."

Malfoy stared at Harry, accusing. Harry shook his head frantically. No, really. He hadn't said anything. But it was true that Malfoy's distance from the group of his friends was noticeable. If he had thought that he could keep that a secret from the rest of the school, he'd been wildly optimistic.

"Besides," Ginny said, and moved forwards until her nose was an inch away from Malfoy's, "you ought to keep up with gossip better. Harry and I aren't together anymore. I found someone else, and he hasn't found someone else yet but she's sure to be pretty when he does. Do _try _to use the right ones if you _must _insult people." And she whirled and marched off with her nose in the air.

Malfoy met Harry's eyes in the moment after she left and Harry had to follow or risk looking suspicious to the curious audience watching them. Malfoy's lips shaped the words: _is it true? _

Harry nodded, once, and then mouthed back, _I didn't tell her about you._

Malfoy gave a sad smile, one that seemed directed inwards in a weird way. "I didn't mean that," he breathed, and turned around to wander back to the Slytherin table, dodging the Tripping Jinx that someone aimed at him from under the bench. Considering that that provoked an immediate, stern speech from McGonagall about how the returned eighth-years were adults now and should know better, Harry was just as glad to leave.

He shook off the mood once he found Ginny waiting for him-and watching for him-but the memory of Malfoy's smile remained with him as they went to the library, and he wondered how long someone could really endure taunts from old friends and attempts to kill you and all the rest of it without going insane. He found Malfoy hard enough to deal with now, never mind if he was mad.

_I'll rescue him. If only to spare the rest of the world, and me, from him._

* * *

"Potter? I have something to say to you."

No mistaking Parkinson's shrill voice anywhere, although Harry wondered why in the world she thought it was a good idea to talk to him in the Potions supply cupboard. His eyes still burned from reading through eighteen pages of dense writing before he came down to Potions, and concentrating on the complicated instructions Slughorn had given them before he came in here didn't make it any better. Harry made sure he had a light and easy grip on his wand, and turned around with a smile that might reassure Parkinson if she was stupid. Of course, she _was_, but he wasn't sure how deep it ran. "Parkinson. How can I help you?"

Parkinson leaned against the entrance of the supply cupboard, her arms folded, her posture so close a mimicry of Ginny's from earlier in the day that Harry immediately became convinced it was a trap. He blinked and looked around for other Slytherins, but there was no one there.

"Stay away from Draco," Parkinson said. "If you know what's good for you."

Harry stared at her, and waited. She stared back. Harry sighed at last and said, "That's all you have? A terrible threat that sounds like it was stolen from a Muggle movie?"

Parkinson flushed, and hissed, "We know it was you who got us in trouble with Slughorn. We know it was you who rescued him. We just want you to know that this is a private, Slytherin matter, and however Draco got the Great Protector of the Weak on his side, it was a lie. Leave it alone, and leave it to die a natural death."

Harry gave her a smile, and he knew it was hard. "What? Like the kind that you plan to give Draco?"

Parkinson staggered back from him and barely caught herself against the doorway to prevent flopping to the ground. She watched Harry with an open mouth as he stalked towards her, and then flapped her hands out and shook her head. "You don't understand!" she whisper-wailed. "You don't understand what he did to us."

"I know that none of you can agree on it," Harry said. He had briefly thought of telling her the truth, but for all he knew, the spell itself might prevent an attempt to fix matters that way, and he wouldn't want to betray Draco's secrets. "I know it was something horrible, and I know that you feel he deserves retribution for it. But just running around screaming your head off about it doesn't work, you know." Parkinson opened her mouth, probably to object to the "screaming your head off" bit, but Harry plowed ahead. "And killing him or injuring him doesn't work, either. He didn't kill or injure you."

"He-some of us, he did," Parkinson said, and picked herself up again. "Some of us say he did. That's enough for me."

"You trust them more than Draco?" Harry asked mildly. "I thought you liked him better than any of them."

Parkinson froze, and her eyes went wide. Then she shook her head. "He couldn't respond when Blaise accused him," she mumbled. "There has to be something there. He did _something _to hurt _someone_."

Harry didn't know exactly what that meant, though he hoped that a memory of how Blaise had challenged Draco and Draco had tortured him was starting to surface, and instead just shrugged. "All I know, Parkinson, is that you've threatened him, and hurt him, and I'm going to protect him." He brushed past her and out of the supply cupboard, then realized he had left behind the packets of crushed dandelion heads that he'd been supposed to get. With a sigh, he Summoned them.

Parkinson was shaking her head when he turned back to her. "I did try to warn you," she said. "We don't want to hurt anyone else in our quest to punish Draco. No one else did anything to us. Until now." Her eyes narrowed. "I really would step out of the way, unless you want to be hurt. And if there's something we're good at, I know it's that."

"You were so scared of Voldemort that you said we should throw me to him," Harry said, and he couldn't keep the scorn out of his voice. "But you didn't volunteer for it yourself, I notice. And I bet you didn't always escape when the Carrows and their kind tortured people, either."

Parkinson's expression flickered at the reference to torture, but then she shook her head, and her face hardened again. "I just tried to warn you," she said, brushing past Harry hard enough to nearly make him drop the packets. "Don't blame it on me when something happens to you."

Harry rolled his eyes as he returned to his seat. He would believe that the Slytherin students were as dangerous as full-fledged Death Eaters when they proved it to him.

* * *

"And did you find out anything about the yellow aura?"

From the frown Snape gave him, maybe he shouldn't have asked the question, Harry knew, but the continued silence was driving him mad. He had come tonight because Snape had told him to, but so far, Snape had looked through his books and now and then grunted, or tossed another handful of ingredients into the simmering potion that hung above the central brazier. From the pungent smell that mingled those of some of the flowers Harry had owl-ordered, he thought it was probably the Resurrection Potion.

Snape didn't answer for long minutes. Harry watched the Resurrection Potion to distract himself. The bubbles rose and burst against the rim, then subsided. He suppressed the urge to reach out and tickle one of them. Not only did the blue chalk circle and most of the Shack still separate him from it, touching it probably wouldn't be a good idea.

"The books said nothing about yellow auras," Snape said abruptly. "But they did say that gold and blue auras sometimes mingle to create a green one."

Harry held himself back from rolling his eyes, because he could just imagine the reaction _that _gesture would produce. "Okay, so why do I have one?"

Snape bared his teeth. "That is the point, Potter. You _should not _have one. The gold aura belongs to someone who has had a close encounter with a werewolf in the past and managed to escape infection that time as well as this. But the only werewolf that you were around in the past was Remus Lupin, and I know for a fact that he didn't bite you."

Harry blinked. "So my personality was influenced by the blood, and-somehow I was supposedly exposed to a werewolf bite before? Or werewolf blood?"

"Werewolf blood." Snape reached down, caught up one of the heavy dark books that Harry had brought for him, with a cover more like wood than leather, and flipped through it until he evidently located the part that he wanted Harry to read. He tossed it towards him, and Harry caught it mechanically and bowed his head.

_The gold aura of the indicator potion denotes a close transformation-peripheral incident in the recent past, and can demonstrate a more than passing acquaintance with the dangers of death in a life as a whole..._

"It buggers me how you can make anything out of this," Harry said frankly, and looked up at Snape. "But it says _recent _past. How recent?"

Snape frowned at him, and engaged in a silent, Snape-like struggle between, probably, telling him off for language and telling him off for discovering a point that Snape hadn't brought up. Harry waited, his fingers resting on the page of the book. He had learned during the summer that sometimes keeping quiet and waiting for another person to bring up what they wanted to talk about was the most efficient method of getting them to actually talk about it.

Snape said finally, "Usually, your encounter with a werewolf would have had to occur in the last five months."

"Definitely not that, then," Harry said decisively. "Even Greyback grabbing me and bringing me to Malfoy Manor was less recent than that." He paused, and his eyes darted down to the book again.

Then he began to laugh.

Snape waited all of two seconds before demanding, "Potter, if you intend to laugh at me, I _will _know the cause of it."

"Not at you," Harry said, wiping his tears away. "It was right there in front of me, and I didn't see it." He grinned at Snape. "It says that a gold aura might indicate that the person in question knows a lot about death. And what happened to me sometime in the last five months to make me know a lot about death? Sir, _I died. _Maybe the indicator potion is just trying to tell someone who looks at the aura then, as best as it knows how."

Snape's eyes narrowed until it seemed they would disappear into the slits. "It is true that the indicator potion was not developed for use on someone who had died and come back," he said slowly. "Or on someone protected by a mother's love, or someone who survived the Killing Curse twice."

There was a wistful look on Snape's face when he mentioned the "mother's love" part that kept Harry's head twisted to the side for a few seconds, so Snape could wipe it away. Then he turned back and said, "Well, that ought to be simple, then. Some of my personality traits are amplified, and the rest is just that I died and came back, and that's something the whole world knows."

Snape nodded, and now his face looked like the cover of the book Harry held. Harry gave up on understanding him. This ought to be good news, but Snape would probably tell him to prepare for his funeral, just because. Harry floated the book back across the fire to him and stood up, preparing to leave.

Then he paused with his hand already in the tunnel that he knew led under the tree, and turned back. Snape looked up from the cauldron once more, but his own hands were still at work, shredding bark and twigs and what Harry had reason to know was a whole owl's claw, since it had pricked him more than once when he was carrying the package down to Snape.

"Yes?" Snape asked, in the voice of a man tired to death.

Harry's eyes went once more to the leaves covering the wound on Snape's neck, and he hesitated. But he had promised himself he would ask this, so he nodded and said, "Draco admitted that he cast the spell on his friends. Or miscast it. He tortured Zabini, and he wanted them to forget, but he couldn't decide if he wanted himself to forget, too, so he tried to stop the incantation in the middle."

This time, Snape might have been looking into strong sunlight. His hands fell limp into his lap. Harry tensed for a moment, then told himself Snape was too good a Potions master to let himself be startled by this unless the potion was going to be okay without constant tending. "He admitted it, then?" Snape whispered.

Harry nodded.

"You forced him to confess?" Now Snape was looking at Harry as if _he _were the torturer, with hot whips hidden in his bedroom or something.

"No!" Harry thought of the way he had caught Draco with one of the Half-Blood Prince's spells and herded him into the Room of Requirement, but, well, like he would have talked about it any other way. "I just told him what you told me, and that I wanted to know the truth. If I'm going to help him, lies just muck up everything. I know where some of the books on Memory Charms are now, in the Restricted Section, and if I smile and look charming enough, they should let me in."

Snape started to speak, stopped. Then he said, "You did not use your name and your money nearly as much while you were a student in Hogwarts as you do now."

Harry shrugged. "You just now noticed?" Snape stared at him, and Harry relented. "Well, no. I was too young and stupid to realize how to do it even if I wanted to. But mostly, I just wanted to be normal and for people to ignore me."

"Why use them now, then?" Snape pressed.

"Because that's the only way to get what I want," Harry said. "And I learned this summer that what I want can be important enough, sometimes, to overcome all those little moral scruples I have."

"What you want," Snape said, moving his hand in a circle as though drawing one where Draco would stand, "is to help _us_."

Harry nodded, not seeing what was so remarkable about that. Hadn't Snape called on him for help because he was relatively sure Harry would do it? "And for you to help Draco, if you can. If you know anything about Memory Charms, or the ways that his spell might be messed up."

"You may bring me certain books, and Draco's notes," Snape said. "I feel it would be disruptive to my concentration, and thus to my work on the Resurrection Potion, if I were to see him now."

Harry blinked and cocked his head. "But _I'm _not disruptive? Most people would be sure it was the other way around."

Snape maintained his position, eyes on his potion, for a few moments. Harry turned to look, too, but although the potion was now a deeper blue than it had been when he entered the Shack, closer to purple, he didn't see what had attracted Snape's attention.

"Go away, Potter," Snape said at last, but with a gentler tone in his voice than Harry had known he was capable of when dealing with a student he thought was stupid. "You are trying my patience."

Harry shrugged and left through the tunnel, swinging his Cloak over him as he did. He reckoned that the good news about the golden aura was enough to expect out of Snape tonight.

* * *

"This doesn't make any _sense_."

Harry frowned and bent over the notes Draco had spread on the desk in front of them, keeping one eye out for Flitwick. Draco had smiled when the professor asked them if they wanted another partner to make their group a group truly working on Triad Charms, and said sweetly that they were getting along well now and would like to provide a study contrast to the other groups. Harry hadn't thought Flitwick would fall for it, but he'd been squeakingly excited.

And since Harry and Draco could already do ordinary Triad Charms easily, that meant they could spend the time in Charms class working on the project to reverse the screwed-up Memory Charm on the Slytherins.

"What doesn't make sense?" Harry asked, after looking over the notes and seeing nothing more than variations of the spells he and Draco had already discussed and agreed wouldn't work to make things better. He shot a glance at Draco under his lashes, and found him sitting with his chin propped up on one hand, staring down at the paper.

The pose made Harry's stomach quiver in something that it took him a moment to recognize as approval, rather than a sign that he was about to heave up his lunch. He bit his lip and frowned. So, what, did he approve of Draco acting like an ordinary person rather than a perfectly poised and rational one? But he hadn't acted like one of _those _since the beginning of the year, anyway, and it was silly to reach back into the years of their rivalry when what was important was what they shared now.

"This theory that says Memory Charms always have to be _reversed_." Draco's finger nearly chopped off Harry's nose as it flashed down and pounced on that innocent word. Harry blinked and jerked his head back, touching his nose to be sure it was still there. Draco, bent over the parchment, didn't notice, and Harry felt a helpless surge of pleasure as he watched the way Draco's hair fell off and over his ear. "What we want is to cast another spell in place of one."

Harry decided to save the argument for later. "Hmm," he murmured, nodding. "Well, this is only one book, you know. Maybe not all of them say that."

Draco glanced up, and stared at Harry, his eyes widening. Harry wondered what he would open his mouth to say.

It couldn't have been a warning, because he was looking in the opposite direction of the curse and there was no way that he would have seen it approaching. Harry himself only had the blue light spreading out in a shape like an owl's wings as an indicator, and then he seized Draco and shoved him under the desk, following a moment later.

The spell burst, and Harry heard fire crackling, clicking noises like claws on bone, screams-

And then, utter silence and darkness.


	18. Embarrassment and Other Potential

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Eighteen—Embarrassment and Other Potential Embarrassments_

"_Will _you hush? You woke him up!"

Harry opened his eyes to light that hurt, and sat up right away, because the last thing he could remember was someone firing curses at him. Or probably at Draco, considering that some of the Slytherins who had hurt him were in Charms, too.

His head promptly tried to fall off his neck, and the ache spread throughout his temples and his scar, and he screwed up his eyes and pushed his hands into them. A glance around showed him enough white that he knew he was in the hospital wing. There was no one in the beds besides him, which was a relief.

Then he thought of Draco potentially being hurt badly enough to need a private bed, and that was worse than the headache. He flung back the sheets and tried to scramble to the floor, looking desperately around to find his glasses and his wand as he did so.

"Mr. Potter! You are quite safe, and so is everyone else."

Madam Pomfrey had dealt with him often enough in the aftermath of the war to know what would worry him. He relaxed with a little sigh and leaned back on the pillows just before she would probably have cast a spell to push him there. "What was the curse that hit me?" he asked. "Us? Who cast it?"

"Someone who should be extremely glad that she fled the school immediately afterwards, or she would have been expelled," Madam Pomfrey said grimly, bustling around the room. Harry watched her for a second, then looked around for a sign of whoever had woken him up, or at least whoever she had been talking to. He would have expected Ron and Hermione, maybe Professor Klein come to see if it was another Death Eater attack.

Instead, Draco sat in a chair, his face pale and still. He nodded to Harry when he caught his eye, and then leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked cold, Harry thought, studying him. Had the curse stolen his body heat?

No, because Madam Pomfrey had said that no one else was hurt, and she wouldn't have lied about something like that. Harry finally turned his head and saw the potion she was holding out to him, something the color of mint. He knew it wouldn't have that flavor, and so held his nose while he tipped it down his throat. Madam Pomfrey shook her head at him, smiling a little, and took the vial back.

"Miss Parkinson cast the curse," she said quietly. "It was meant to change your memory, as nearly as we can figure out. If she threatened you, she perhaps wanted you to forget it."

Harry kept from looking at Draco with an effort. "She did," he said. "That's it, Madam Pomfrey, I'm sure." He rubbed his head. "But why does my head hurt if she didn't succeed in getting what she wanted?"

"Because you hit it against the table leg," Madam Pomfrey said. "And nearly gave yourself a concussion! Trying to wake you up and listening to the yelling and screaming was enough to give me a fit. But we did wake you up long enough to determine it wasn't a concussion, and the best thing then was to let you sleep. Do you remember waking up before?"

Harry frowned. "It seems like a dream," he admitted. He could see Draco's face hovering in front of him if he concentrated, but then, it did that all the time in his waking thoughts anyway. And Ron and Hermione _had _been here, hadn't they, watching him with wet, wide eyes? "Were my friends here?"

"Yes, but I sent them away again when they couldn't be sensible," Madam Pomfrey said. She glanced at Draco, and her voice softened. "Mr. Malfoy understood—until the last few minutes, at least—that quiet is best for patients in your condition. I want to keep you for a last few diagnostic spells, Mr. Potter, and to make sure that you _rest_, but there's no reason you can't leave the hospital wing tomorrow."

Harry nodded, and looked helpful and blinked slowly until she bustled off to attend to something else. Then he rolled over on the bed and locked eyes with Draco.

"A memory charm," Draco breathed. "Well, mixed with something else, or it could never have caused the damage it did." He swallowed. "She's starting to remember. Or she's starting to have a notion about what I did to her."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "I mean, I think it's the most logical explanation, too," he added, when Draco glared at him. "I just want to know if it's the real one."

"We can't get any clearer answer, except by asking Pansy," Draco said. "And she did run away. I think she knew that she'd gone too far when you jumped into her line of fire. She could get away with attacking me, maybe—although it was still insanely risky to try it in the classroom—but not the Chosen One." He exhaled painfully and uncurled his fingers from the tight grip they had on the flesh of his other wrist. "I'm just surprised she tried it at all. So far, she and the others have kept the sneers and threats and assaults in private."

"She did threaten me earlier," Harry said quietly. "Told me to stay away from you. I think her real target was you, but she wouldn't have minded taking me out of the game, either, or screwing up my memory of her threat, or whatever else she was trying to do. And as far as why she tried it in Charms, she probably was going to excuse it as a Triad Charm gone wrong." He shook his head. "But then she panicked because I wasn't moving, or she decided that an assault on the Chosen One by someone who wanted to throw him to the Death Eaters was never going to get passed off as a mistake. Who knows?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You don't seem interested in why she did it. You should be. If my spell's hold is weakening on my friends' memories, or changing, then it'll affect what we can do to—change them." He'd decided not to say "help them" at the last minute, Harry decided.

"Because she's gone," Harry said. "And I don't think you have any idea about where she's gone, do you? Or you would have shared it with someone."

Draco stared at him. "How do you know that?" he asked at last, his voice hushed. Perhaps it was only because of what they were talking about, but Harry didn't think so. Draco's face was too pale for that, and once again he was digging his fingernails into his wrist. "I might have kept quiet because if someone finds out about that spell—"

"But she's a threat to you, and to me, and she could tell someone else about the spell when she's away from school, too, if she's really starting to figure out things," Harry pointed out quietly. "Or that she hates you, at least, and she might get someone interested in that even if they don't think it's strange. So you want her back. You would have told someone if you knew. The only option we have is to watch Zabini and Goyle and the others, and figure out whether their behavior is changing, or the spell is changing, from them."

Draco closed his eyes, then opened them again. "I had no idea that you knew me that well," he said, and his eyes were clear, but the sneer he tried to pair with that was false. "You—haven't shown it so far."

"Didn't want to freak you out," Harry said peaceably, and changed the subject. "What happened right after the curse hit?"

"Granger and Weasley screamed like you were dying," Draco said, with a faint, scornful smile that reminded Harry of something he hadn't remembered often before: that Draco had seen his share of death and torture and pain during the war, and wouldn't scream like that just because someone was lying unconscious on the floor. "Someone yelled that it was Pansy, but I think I was the only one who heard them. Everyone was more worried about you than about her."

Harry grimaced and nodded. He still thought Parkinson had probably aimed more for Draco than him, but a side-effect of her victim being the Boy-Who-Lived was that he'd get a lot of attention right at first and serve as a nice distraction.

"And then someone else figured out that you were unconscious, but not dead, and they became interested in hauling you up to the hospital wing." Draco shrugged and leaned back in his chair, his face shutting as he stared up at the ceiling. "They brought me to the Headmistress. She seemed to think I would know something about the attack."

"Sorry about that," Harry said. "Suspicion falling on you, I mean," he added, when Draco's eyes darted back to him and his expression plainly said that he had no idea what Harry was babbling about.

"You didn't cause it," Draco said, and his voice twanged like bent metal. "And you could have done nothing to prevent it, unconscious as you were."

"I'm not allowed to say sorry just because I feel sympathy for you?" Harry asked, and grinned at him.

Draco stood up from his chair so fast that it skittered backwards, and for a moment Harry thought Madam Pomfrey would come out and tell Draco to be quiet again. He was prepared to defend Draco if it happened.

Perhaps he should have been prepared to defend himself _from _Draco. Draco was right in his face, his nose brushing Harry's, his mouth close enough that Harry could smell a slight, sour fish smell to his breath. He blinked, and wondered what in the world Draco had been eating. If he'd had dinner since the attack, then Harry made a mental note not to eat anything that smelled like Draco's breath.

"Don't treat me like this," Draco breathed. "Don't you _dare _treat me like this."

"Sympathetically?" Harry tried to hold onto the grin, but it was crumpling. He ground his teeth. He was trying to be patient, he was trying to be helpful, especially since he had done some things wrong and Draco needed help, but he was aching with the effort to stay that way now. Draco had been _stupid_, and here he was, acting _stupid _again. "You'd prefer me to yell at you all the time and say that it was your fault?"

"You can't treat me like your friend," Draco continued, his voice so thick and obsessive that Harry was sure he hadn't heard a word Harry had said. "I'm not one."

"You're someone I need to help, and you're someone who tried to help me, with Klein and other things," Harry countered. If this was an argument, he was going to win it, and it looked like the best way to win it would be to continue to annoy Draco. His anger made him smile again, and Draco was an idiot to stare at him, because he should have understood the smile better than that. "I think I'll continue treating you like a friend when it annoys you so much. To annoy you, I must be doing something right."

Draco moved forwards until their foreheads bumped. Then he grabbed Harry's shoulders and shook him. Harry grabbed his arms and stopped him from doing that; his head still hurt, no matter what potion Madam Pomfrey had given him.

Draco was hissing into his face now, in a voice that made Harry want to ask if he was _sure _he didn't speak Parseltongue. His breath filled up the space between them, and yep, there was that stink again. Harry bit his tongue to keep from asking what the hell it was.

"You know me. You must know how long I've wanted you to be my friend. And now you're only doing that because you _pity_ me, and that's worse than you never doing it at all."

Harry swallowed. Yeah, he didn't have the urge to taunt Draco right now, or to laugh at him. He wondered if Draco realized that he had just told Harry something much deeper than Harry ever could have guessed, something he would curse himself for in a little while.

But Harry had to say exactly the right thing here. He got his mouth open, but Draco was continuing, and it was clear that he wasn't going to stop just because Harry understood him better than before and had something to say to him.

"From that first day on, what I wanted from you was friendship. I took your attention because you gave it to me for taunting you and hexing you and following you around and trying to get you in trouble, but I was waiting for the day that you would turn around and see me and realize I was the friend you really wanted. For _that_, and nothing else. Until I woke up one day and realized what a pathetic fantasy it was. I wasn't living in some _story _where the child who's rejected by the all-powerful bully gets the bully to love and admire him at the end of the story because he's so much better than the bully. You already rejected me, and you would reject me again if you found out what I was waiting for, and _laugh _at me."

He paused to gulp down air, and Harry stared at him. That was—that was so _strange_. He had known Draco hated him, felt embarrassed by him, blamed him for lots of things, sure, but he had never thought Draco would want anything like that from him. Why would he? Harry was a Gryffindor, and pathetic by definition. Draco had more money than Harry, and a loving family, and more friends, and a House he was proud of. Sure, Harry had the fame and attention, but Draco knew how that fame could change at a moment's notice and how he could use it to hurt Harry. Otherwise, he never would have cooked up that plot with Rita Skeeter in fourth year.

Harry knew lots of people who wanted something from him. And he had always thought that what Draco wanted was for him to curl up and die.

_Why should he want my friendship so much? Just because I was the Boy-Who-Lived? _

But then another thought occurred to Harry, and he interrupted Draco before he could get going again. "You only wanted to be my friend because I rejected you," he snapped, and his heart fluttered wildly and he leaned in close enough that they bumped foreheads again. Draco glared at him, eyes frozen in fury, but Harry all but spat into his face. "If I'd been your friend, you would have been happy for about five minutes, and then you would have thrown me away like a broken toy. Because you got what you wanted, and that meant it wasn't _fun _anymore."

Draco clenched his hands in front of him, which was preferable to having them clamped on his shoulders again, Harry thought, but only just. "You don't _understand_," he said. "I saw the way you were with Weasley and Granger. I might laugh and make fun of it when anyone else was around, but I _saw._ You were loyal to them, and you meant what you said, and you were miserable when they fought with you. I would have had that, if you had been my friend."

"How do you know?" Harry sneered at him. He was in the mood to smash Draco's head open against the wall at the moment. It was the way he had felt years ago, and he had promised this summer that he would stop that, but at the moment, he didn't care. "You probably would have corrupted me and I would have betrayed you and rejected _you_ even if you didn't do it to me!"

"I wouldn't have," Draco began, and then choked on the words and fell silent for a long moment before he was able to continue. Harry felt the bitter, poisonous part of his rage begin to retreat, but he'd already said everything he was thinking, and it was too late to go back. "I wouldn't have _corrupted _you," Draco said at last, in a tone that Harry didn't think could have got any more emotionless without special training. "I would have been friends with you, yes. I would have had that loyalty for myself."

"So you wanted someone who would follow you and not turn on you the way your friends have now," Harry said. "Well, you're right about one thing."

"What?" Draco looked over his shoulder as if wondering why Madam Pomfrey didn't appear when she'd be welcome.

"You aren't going to have my friendship out of pity," Harry said. "There's nothing in the world I want less right now than to be friends with you, _that _way. You're always thinking of yourself. You think—you think I would have been, what, your good little dog following you around? The way you're going on about loyalty. You think I would have stood aside and let you do whatever you want because I was loyal to you. It doesn't _work _that way."

"I never said anything about that!" Draco snapped, rising to his feet. His hair wisped around his head like dandelion fluff, and Harry pinched his arm to make himself stop thinking stupid thoughts like that. "I don't want you as some little dog, the way you keep putting it. You would have been my friend."

"You know the reason I'm Ron's friend?" Harry shouted. He knew Madam Pomfrey would probably come back any second and throw Draco out of the infirmary and tell him to get some rest, but not before he could say this. "And Hermione's? And Ginny's? And Neville's? And everyone else's, just not yours?"

"What, then?" Draco braced himself as if he was going to walk off a cliff.

"Because they're loyal to _me_, too!" Harry waved his hands around, and ignored the renewed ache in his head. Madam Pomfrey said he didn't have a concussion, so it was perfectly fine if he moved around and ignored the pain. And somewhere in the back of his head, that made sense. It didn't _matter_. Things would be done in a few seconds and then he'd probably never see Draco again, because he was going to say the obvious thing that Draco would hate. "Because they're my friends too! Because they helped me, and fought on the same side of the war, and they joke with me, and they don't just expect me to help them all the time! They help me, too!"

"That's—that's—allies," Draco said, and croaked the word. He was edging towards the door of the hospital wing, and if his eyes didn't stop darting over Harry's shoulder every few words, he was going to drive Harry quite mad.

"No," Harry said. "Allies are people who are just together because they do things for each other and no more. Friends are people who are together because they _want _to do things for each other." His voice sank. Maybe the curse Parkinson had used had damaged his throat, too, even though Madam Pomfrey hadn't said so, because he found it hurt to speak much above a whisper now. "I want to help you. But you want me to be loyal to you, and be your friend, and erase the last few years so I never chose Ron over you on the train, and—and I don't have a fucking _clue _what else. That's not friendship, and it's not alliance."

He slumped back against the pillow and closed his eyes. He couldn't even say why he was so angry, so disappointed, to soothe the nameless pulse pounding in his head. Maybe just because he'd helped Draco and thought it would lead to them burying this stupid hatred they used to have for each other. Maybe because he was an idiot and had thought that Draco meant the offers of alliance he gave in the Forest and when they stood against Klein together to be long-lasting.

But, no. There were some things that Harry had to do himself, and arguing with Klein and helping Snape were two of them. He'd finish the research for the spell to replace Draco's screwed-up memory charm, and then they would go their separate ways. There was nothing to hold them together.

"That's not true."

"What's not true?" Harry pried one eye open. And his emotions had changed again, and now he felt a little ashamed of what he'd said. There was no _reason _for it. He was an idiot, to think that Draco would ever have told him the truth without being forced to, after the way he had lied to Harry in the first place. They were just going to part. They couldn't be friends, and some of the stupid things Harry felt were just that, stupid, and he was a moody child. "I think everything I said was true."

Draco was standing near the bed again, and he had an expression on his face that…made Harry sit up. It was solemn. Other than that, Harry couldn't read it. Draco folded his arms and stared straight at him.

"It's not true that I could never try that kind of friendship," Draco said. "I just never understood it. I thought you were loyal, and that was the end of it." He paused, gnawing his lip. "I do have friends, but it's more like an alliance, the way you would describe it. We always had to keep in mind that we might have to turn against each other in politics or if our families didn't like each other. Or our mothers might try to force us together and make us go on dates. Or someone might discover our blood wasn't pure enough, a few generations back. Someone is always searching, you know, to discover a Muggle in someone else's family tree. It's a kind of game," he added bitterly.

Harry tilted his head. "But you think you could still be good at friendship, even coming out of a House like that?"

"It's not the House," Draco corrected him sharply. "There are Slytherins who aren't like that. It was our group, my year, growing up during the war." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay. You saved me, and it's hard to get used to, and you forced me to tell the truth, and _that's _hard to get used to. But we're here now, and I'd like—I'd still like your friendship." He made a sour face. "I don't know if death will cure me of wanting that."

It seemed pathetic, and it was, in a way. Harry hadn't thought he could be that important to anyone, and especially to someone who had despised him for most of their childhood. But that wasn't the important thing.

Not if they didn't want it to be.

"Then let's start over," he said. "We don't lie to each other, we don't think all the time about how we saved each other's lives, and we don't try to say stupid things to hurt each other. Does that work?"

"That's all the stuff we don't do," Draco pointed out, his eyes as grey as fog. "What _do _we do?"

Harry was tired and his head hurt, but he knew an invitation when he heard one. He stuck out his hand.

"We shake hands," he said. "Like this."

The room was stifling hot, or seemed that way, during the moments when Draco stood there with his eyes darting from Harry's hand to his face. Then he took a step forwards and clasped it, shakily.

Harry caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, and smiled a little. It seemed Madam Pomfrey sometimes thought her patients needed some things more than they needed healing potions and bedrest.

And that might include even the patients who weren't currently in bed. Because Draco was looking at him, for the first time all year, with eyes that were really clear, not just in contrast to a glazed state but for themselves, and bright.


	19. Friendship in Public

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Nineteen—Friendship in Public_

"Hello, Potter."

That was Draco, calling to him from the Slytherin table. Harry paused, and felt a slow smile form on his face, despite the righteously shocked expressions of half the Gryffindors.

_So that's the way Draco wants to play it, is it? I had assumed he would want to keep it secret outside of the times that we're alone, but...if that's the way he wants to do it, then I'm more than agreeable._

"Hello, Malfoy," he said back, with an acknowledging nod, and sat down to toast and marmalade and scrambled eggs that looked more like fluffy mushrooms at the Gryffindor table. He poked at them, and frowned. He had to admit that sometimes he wondered about the house-elves' cooking skills, and whether they were really as great as everyone claimed when they were discussing Hogwarts.

"Why did Malfoy say hello to you, mate?" Ron muttered, leaning across to him as though his words didn't boom out anyway, even in a whisper, and attract the attention of half the Great Hall. Hermione looked back and forth between them, but didn't listen as avidly as she would have normally; Harry thought the bloody great book on Memory Charms in her hands was probably distracting her. She whispered a Cleaning Charm as he watched, to get rid of some of the flying crumbs that had dropped on it.

"We're sort of friends now," Harry said casually, and bit into the eggs, finding them good after all, as he waited for the explosion to start.

Ron didn't explode, though. He sat there, blinking and building up steam. Harry took a hasty gulp of pumpkin juice, just in case Ron knocked it over when his arms started flailing around. That would be any moment now, or so Harry's Ron-temper-sense judged.

"_What_?" Ron hissed at last, but even that was closer to a whisper than an explosion. Harry approved. Whether Hermione had trained that into him or Ron had simply realized on his own that not everything needed to be a public spectacle, Harry didn't know, but it meant they stood a chance of keeping private disagreements private.

"In the hospital wing," Harry explained, and glared as a glob of marmalade landed on his jumper. He spelled it away and then went back to eating his toast, until Ron's glare sunburning the side of his face told him he would have to explain more than that. "He was there when I woke up, and he and I talked about the curse that Parkinson cast at me. Then we yelled some, and fought some, and it turns out that he isn't all bad, when he forgets to act the part of the haughty pure-blood for three seconds. We're sort of friends now. We shook hands and everything. We'll see how it goes." He darted a quick glance at Draco, only to find him speaking with a girl who looked like one of the younger Slytherins. Harry relaxed a bit. That was a good thing, if the spell he'd cast on his yearmates didn't drive everyone in his House away. Newfound Gryffindor friend or not, Harry reckoned Draco needed other Slytherins to be around, too.

"That makes no sense," Ron said blankly. "So he was in the way when someone cast a curse at you. So you saved his life. You already saved his life, with the Fiendfyre. Why would he care so much about this?"

"Oh, _honestly_, Ron," Hermione said, and carefully marked her place in the book with a finger before she looked up, as if she thought the huge book was likely to fall shut any time soon. "Harry just said that they didn't bond over something like that. They bonded over discussing things like rational adults. I'm proud of Harry. It's about time that he got over his obsession with Malfoy." She nodded to Harry, took a prim sip of milk, and then opened the book again and started skimming down the lines of what looked like a list, her lips moving.

"But, Hermione," Ron whispered. He looked around as if to make sure that no one was paying attention, cringed a bit when he realized that half the Gryffindor table was still paying attention, and went on in an even lower tone. "You know what he called you. You know how much he's always hated you."

Hermione looked at Ron again, and gave a sweet smile. Harry hastily gulped more food. He knew that smile, even if Ron didn't—and it was kind of weird that Ron didn't, since _he_ was Hermione's boyfriend. It meant Hermione was about to strike out with words the way Ron did with chess moves.

"And doesn't that mean that _I _should be the one to decide if he gets forgiven or not?" Hermione countered. "Because I'm the one he called that, and the one whose feelings were hurt? Or do you think that _you_ get to make the decision?"

Ron was at least bright enough to get the tone, if not the smile. He smiled and spread his hands in what he probably thought was a helpless "don't-hurt-me" gesture. "It's not that," he said. "It's just that I don't think you've thought this through, is all. He _called you that_. That means he can't change, and—and just because girls might think he can doesn't mean Harry should."

"Oh, shit," Harry mouthed, and inhaled the rest of his toast with a speed that would have made Hermione scold him ordinarily. For right now, though, her attention was squarely on her next hapless victim. She even let the book really fall shut, and leaned forwards.

"What you have to say is extremely important to me, Ron," Hermione was murmuring as Harry squirmed off the bench, enchanted a portion of his eggs to fold up inside a bag that had Preservation Charms on it, and shook crumbs off himself. "And I want you to listen to me very carefully."

"Of course, Hermione," Ron said, and gave a squeeze of her hand that basically had no way _not _to come off as condescending. "What you're saying is important to me, too!"

Hermione gave a wider smile, one that made her teeth look remarkably like fangs.

Harry ran for it.

* * *

"You have seen no sign of the pup-killers?"

"No," Harry admitted, and leaned back against the rock behind him. It was quiet here in the Forest, quieter than he had imagined it could be after a full and busy day in the castle. There was Ron to talk with, and Hermione to agree with, and Draco sometimes talking to him and sometimes ignoring him as if he couldn't decide yet which option was the most comfortable, and Klein's instructions to attend to, and a Transfiguration essay to rewrite because of what McGonagall called "a disgrace to spelling" in his last one. Lots to do.

And now, the wolfwere to visit.

"You have not been looking," the wolfwere said, and Harry made himself listen for the tone underneath the words instead of only the words. He heard no fury, no great anger, even. The wolfwere simply stood still and looked at him, and asked as if this was a statement of fact. Or said it was. After all, if Harry had been in the Forest looking for the Death Eaters or their hiding place, the wolfwere would probably have smelled him.

"No," Harry admitted. "I'm sorry. I've had other things to do and think about." He stifled another yawn. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a night's sleep unbroken by worries about Draco, Snape, the wolfwere, or the Death Eaters. And now he had to add Parkinson to the list.

"There is another way to search," said the wolfwere, pacing slowly back and forth in front of him. It seemed to be comfortable on knees and knuckles, almost like an ape. Harry sometimes wanted to ask it whether it wouldn't be easier to stand up on two legs or drop down to all fours, but that seemed rude.

"How?" Harry sat down on the ground, and pinched his arm so he wouldn't fall asleep. The moon was high above the clearing, shining in, and he would have thought that would keep him awake, but it might not be enough with his muscles trembling the way they were. _Stupid lack of sleep._

"There is a way to look from afar," said the wolfwere, and he turned towards Harry with his teeth shining like cage bars. Or the bars in an Azkaban prison cell, Harry thought, and shivered. "But it requires meat."

"I can't get any of their bodies for you," Harry said patiently. "Even the werewolf's." He had asked the Ministry about releasing some of Greyback's body parts, and received no answer. The Unspeakables, who studied werewolves, probably thought the request too ridiculous to bother with, and they were had to be the one Department in the Ministry who didn't fear Harry making a fuss to have the corpse released to him.

"Or bone," the wolfwere went on, as though he hadn't heard Harry. "Or blood." He raised his head and stared Harry in the eye.

Harry swallowed, wondering why his throat was so dry. Probably lack of sleep, too. "You have some?" he asked. "How?"

"Blood splashed on a knife," the wolfwere answered, and his teeth were really gleaming now, one hand-like paw picking up the dirt at his feet and crumbling it. "A knife the killers dropped. A knife they did not want. I took it and buried it."

Harry considered that for a second. He'd heard of spells that worked with liquid blood, sure, lots of them, but never any that worked with dried blood. He wondered for a second whether it was even worth trying, and then pushed the notion away. Of course it was, to settle the wolfwere's mind and try to help him find peace. Whether Harry could do it was a different question.

"Did you want to do it yourself?" he asked.

The wolfwere shook his head. "I could do magic with the blood of the dead," he said. "But this may be the blood of the living."

Harry nodded. If they didn't know what Death Eater it came from, then they didn't know if they were dead in the battle in the Forest, or murdered by Greyback, or alive and in Auror custody. "All right. What do I have to do?"

* * *

Harry settled into his chair in Charms with his mind whirling. The wolfwere had been able to give Harry the knife last night and explain the ritual he would use to find the remaining Death Eaters, but it was so complex that it had to wait for the next day. It would be best under a full moon, anyway, or so said the books that Harry had consulted. He wondered—

"Potter."

Draco slid into the seat beside him, staring at him so forcefully that Harry automatically looked around for a mess he'd made. Of course, he'd only been in Charms two seconds, but that might not matter to Draco.

"You said that you would meet me last night to look at Memory Charms again," Draco said, lowering his voice and covering it further by putting his Charms book and a selection of quills on the desk. "Why didn't you?"

Harry grimaced. He'd completely forgotten about the meeting with Draco in his haste to get out and meet with the wolfwere. He shook his head. Sometimes he thought he needed to be two separate people to get everything done he wanted to do.

"Sorry," he murmured, and nodded to Draco. "I wanted to meet—our friend from the Forest, and talk to him about the people he saw there."

For a moment, Draco's fingers tightened around the quill he held, and Harry heard it creak. "He saw them?" Draco hissed.

"No," Harry said. "But he wants my help finding them again."

Draco laid the quill down, smoothing the feather. "I think that what I want your help for is _slightly _more important," he said, not looking at Harry.

"I think they're both important," Harry said, and then they had to pay attention as Flitwick started talking about Triad Charms. Harry thought they both probably knew more about the Charms than the professor gave them credit for, but, well, he _was _the teacher. Only a few more months of this, and Harry would never have to listen to another professor again.

Unless he did something mad like go to a Muggle university or something. Harry shuddered.

"You need to help me fend off my friends and figure out this spell, or else they could kill me," Draco said, when they were free to talk again.

Harry studied his face. "Did they do something else to you over the weekend? Only you look more frightened than you did."

Draco's shoulders slammed back, and he gave Harry the most incredulous, haughty glare imaginable. "I do not look _frightened_."

"Yes, you do," Harry said frankly. "Not a whole lot, but it's there, and you have to remember that the Death Eaters tried to kill us, too, and did kill the wolfwere's pups. I'm sorry I forgot. Let's not start a row about it, okay?" He glanced back at the notes in front of him as he felt Flitwick's eyes on his back.

"I don't look frightened," Draco hissed at him.

"Then I apologize for that, too," Harry said. He reckoned he would be saying those words a lot, as he'd never had a friend as prickly and sensitive as Draco. Even Hermione, for all that she sometimes took Harry and Ron's words _completely _the wrong way, was more willing to forgive them. "Do you have anything new?"

"No. Because my research partner wasn't _there _last night."

"Come off it," Harry said. "I'm sorry I missed the meeting, but I have lots to keep up with, and lots to do." He determinedly pulled out a section of the chapter from the latest book on Memory Charms that he'd read and copied into his notes. "Look at this. Does this sound reasonable?"

Draco looked at the notes with an immense pinched expression on his face, as though he was doing Harry a favor, but his color increased and his eyes widened as he read on. Harry leaned back in his chair and swung his leg. He had thought it was rather remarkable, himself, but it was always nice to know that he'd been right.

He found himself watching the way Draco's hair hung over his ear again, and remembered that he'd been doing that the other day before Parkinson cursed him. And the way that Draco's color faded and died, and the way his lips set as he read, and the way he reached up and pushed his fringe out of his face while, somehow, never disturbing the hair near his ear…

_I think this might be something other than friendship._

Harry frowned, because while that very well might be true, he didn't think he could stand the complication that would come with it. He would just have to put it aside for now, and hope it wasn't, what with wolfweres and Snapes and everything.

"That sounds…plausible," Draco said at last, putting the notes down. "But that makes our task even more complicated."

"It does, doesn't it?" Harry said, and glanced at the notes again just to make sure that he wasn't misremembering what section of the book he had copied. No, it was the complex one. Of course. "Unfortunately, I think it's right because there isn't any other bloody thing that makes sense. The charm is wearing off, but what it leaves behind it are false memories, basically, that blend into dreams and nightmares and hallucinations. So they might just start casting curses everywhere."

"And their own desire to believe certain parts of it might solidify those memories into ones that seem real," Draco said dully. "And if that happens, there's no removing the charm at all."

"I know," Harry said. "That means that we have to move fast, and not spend as much time on alternate paths. Did you consider the last suggestion I made to you?"

"When would that be?" Draco tilted his head to the side and gave him a whimsical smile. "During that nonexistent meeting we had last night?"

The way to deal with Draco when he was prickly over something like this, Harry was discovering, was to give him a neutral smile and move on. Don't, no matter what, make him think that he could make you change your mind. "The suggestion about watching Zabini and the others to see what the Memory Charm does next."

"A suggestion that would also take time, and one that's hampered by their not letting me near them anymore." Draco curled his fingers into his hair, and Harry thought he would tug on it. He released it with a care that looked more manufactured than gentle. "I don't know what to _do_."

"That's why you asked for help," Harry said. "And I'm a Gryffindor, you know, and also someone who has a link to one of them that you don't. I can take the direct approach."

"What link?" Draco leaned forwards. "I swear to God, if you've gone and done one of those magical betrothal contracts that you were speculating about to engage yourself to Zabini or something—"

Harry choked, and then chuckled. The betrothal contracts were something he had brought up to provoke a reaction from Draco on a day that he'd spent too much time staring glassy-eyed at the wall, not something serious. But wasn't it interesting that that was what Draco chose to remember and believe in? "No," he said at last. "Don't be ridiculous. But Ron and Hermione saved Goyle's life in the Room of Requirement, the same way I saved yours. I can ask them to transfer the life-debt to me, and then tell Goyle that I need to talk to him."

"How the _fuck _do you even know about transferring life-debts?"

Harry grinned at Draco. His outrage colored his cheeks faintly pink and made his lips set in a way that Harry wanted to snog off.

_Okay, all right. So that's distracting. But it'll just have to wait its turn._

"Says the one who wanted a more educated Gryffindor to work with, and lamented the amount of knowledge I didn't have, about Memory Charms and Slytherins and, oh, pretty much everything," he pointed out, and gave Draco a whimsical smile of his own. "You're upset when I take your admonishment seriously and apply it to my education?"

"You aren't supposed to," Draco began, and then bit back the things he might have said. He shook his head. "Fine. It doesn't _matter_. What makes you think that your friends would give you that debt?"

"Because they're my friends," Harry said, blinking at him. "And because there's nothing they want of Goyle."

"Are you sure? They might want something in the future." Draco looked the most—well, _normal_ Harry had seen look all term, his arms folded and his face in the expression Harry had always thought of as haughty and now just called patrician. "You can never predict what useful knowledge or skills someone might turn out to have. That's why you save life-debts, because you never know."

"And that's why they're precious, right?" Harry asked gently. "Because you never know."

Draco paused, watching Harry as if he thought Harry might be making fun of him. Then he nodded, slowly.

"Well, it's not my way to hoard my Galleons," Harry said. "And I really don't think Ron and Hermione would ever consider going to Goyle even if they knew that he had something they wanted. They would find another source of knowledge, or they would bargain for what he had, instead of trying to make him surrender it with a life-debt."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "But you, the consummate Gryffindor, are willing to do that?"

"I learned something over the summer," Harry said, leaning in and inviting Draco to lean in at the same time by lowering his voice. "You see, I learned that I was a bit of a bastard."

Draco laughed; the sound was low, and clear, and unmistakable, and it changed his face, made it charming and bright and, for a moment, as though a small rainstorm that followed him everywhere had lifted. Harry stared at him and felt that change ripple through him at the same time, making his stomach contract.

_Definitely something that needs to be dealt with when I have time._

* * *

"You have the dried blood."

The wolfwere's voice dripped around him. Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say that he had thought to consult Snape first, that he wanted to study more about the ritual the wolfwere had explained to him before he began, but the wolfwere pressed forwards, and his hand reached out and touched Harry's for the first time. Shorter fingers than a human hand, with ragged nails black with dirt, but real.

"You have the chance to find them."

Harry nodded, and sighed, and picked up the knife that the wolfwere had given him last night. Carefully, he flaked the dried blood off it and into a vial; he had learned to do that much neatly, thanks to his Potions lessons. The wolfwere left his hand in place and only withdrew it when Harry had to move the vial to add the other ingredients. Then his hands dug into the earth and ripped it up, along with clumps of grass. A howl broke from his mouth, low and soft. Harry didn't think he meant it to.

The ritual called for living blood on the dead. Harry added three drops of his, and then held out his hand to the wolfwere. He looked at Harry, his head tilted so far to the side that his eyes looked amber instead of gold.

"If you want to drink my blood," Harry said, and then stopped. In the end, he couldn't think of a better way to phrase it than the words he had already chosen, and so he used them. "Because you didn't get to drink theirs."

The wolfwere carried on staring at him, to the point where Harry thought he wouldn't accept the blood. Then he lowered his head and extended his tongue across the distance between them, as if he didn't trust himself to use his hands. Perhaps he didn't, Harry thought. His heart was pounding as though it was about to leap out of him, and he was already regretting offering this.

But then the tongue scraped across the blood, and the sensation was strange and brief and suddenly gone. The wolfwere lapped at his muzzle, tilted his head again, and said, "Thank you for the gift. But you taste nothing like them."

Harry nodded back, awkwardly, and then spent a few minutes orienting himself to the moon and doing the requisite number of turns in a circle. The incantation began to fall from his lips as though forced out, surrounding him with a skein of silk, and then straightened and tensed around him. Harry lifted the vial to his lips and swallowed one tongueful of the mixture.

Power seized him and tossed him high. Harry opened his eyes with his veins on fire, his arms as strong as a giant's, his eyes an eagle's—

And he saw. Across the distance, he saw, and saw the Death Eaters' camp, and saw the figure that stood in the middle of them, directing them.

Saw Pansy Parkinson sitting at his feet, and the werewolves who prowled and snarled in circles.

Saw that it was Lucius Malfoy.


	20. Unwelcome Revelations

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty—Unwelcome Revelations_

_Shit._

That was all Harry could think for long minutes, when the spell had tossed him back into himself. He'd seen the route he took, or part of it. The Death Eaters, with their new Lord, were definitely not in the Forbidden Forest anymore. Harry wasn't the greatest with maps, but he had learned a little bit after being on the run last year, and more than that, some of the kinds of tree had looked familiar. He thought they were in the Forest of Dean.

He should go back and report this to Klein. She would contact the other Aurors, and maybe, with enough advance warning and without the great Harry Potter to protect, they would prove competent enough to take down Malfoy and his followers.

He should do a lot of things. Maybe even tell Snape, since the Death Eaters would probably pay for news that he was still alive, and it was the kind of thing someone else might discover on accident.

But all he could do was sit there and think about how he would tell Draco that his father was the new leader of the Death Eaters, and that Parkinson was with him.

"What did you see?"

_Well, _Harry thought, staring up at the wolfwere's glowing amber eyes, _the first thing I need to do, whatever I feel like doing, is explain to the person who gave me the means to see this in the first place._

"They're in another forest," he said. "It looked like the Forest of Dean. A long way away from here," he added, and hoped that would satisfy the wolfwere, since even if he was good with maps he doubted he could give directions that would make sense from a non-human perspective. "The leader is someone I thought was—trapped by other humans." Lucius Malfoy _had _been sentenced to Azkaban, right? That part of the summer, Harry was fuzzy on, since he thought it was around the fourth funeral. "And he has werewolves with him. I saw them snarling, and they're bigger than you are, and have sharper teeth." That might keep the wolfwere from rushing off even if he could find someone who would tell him where the Forest of Dean was.

"How?" the wolfwere asked, and jerked his head up at the sky where the half-moon floated. "It is not their territory of time."

Harry froze. Yes, he should have thought of that, too. How in the world could Malfoy have werewolves around him when it wasn't the full moon?

"Maybe they weren't werewolves," he said. "They looked—they had teeth enough, but they looked more like ordinary wolves. Just bigger." And he had seen enough of Remus's transformation during their third year to know that Remus had some definite differences. "I don't know. I don't know where they came from."

"I may," said the wolfwere. "They are kin, the wolves who change with the moon. But they are kin in strange ways. They eat the blood and flesh of the fallen. Of my fallen. If they took enough of my pups to feed them…"

Harry swallowed. He wanted to say that was disgusting, but of course it was, and that wasn't the point. Death Eaters probably wouldn't think of wolfweres as people, anyway, or even magical creatures worth respect, like the centaurs. And the wolfwere didn't know what had happened. It was only a theory.

_A plausible one._

_ And I still have no idea what I'm going to tell Draco._

* * *

The smart thing, Harry told himself over and over the next day as he dragged through his classes and waved his wand when he had to and produced an indifferent potion and mumbled replies when called upon, would be to tell Auror Klein right now. She was in the castle, of course, and he had Defense that afternoon; it would take about two minutes. She would want a few more details, and she probably wouldn't be happy when Harry told her about the wolfwere magic that had taken him there, but at least she _knew _about the wolfwere. And the Death Eaters might be out torturing and killing people right this second, for all Harry knew.

But he didn't want Draco to find out that his father was leading them when the fact popped up in a newspaper article. Which meant Harry had to be the one to break the news, news that would probably make Draco either angry or cold in response.

He picked up his courage in Charms, where Draco was studying the latest notes on a variation of the Memory Charm that was meant for groups and mumbling to himself. Harry waited until Flitwick was on the other side of the classroom and everyone else seemed to be concentrating on Triad Charms and couldn't possibly overhear. Then he put his hand on Draco's and cleared his throat.

Draco stared at him. "There's a difference between acknowledging each other as friends and _groping _me, Potter," he said.

Harry yanked his hand away so fast his quill went flying to the floor. He thought half the room leaned forwards in response. Most people in the school seemed to suspect that Harry and Draco's new friendship was a trick they were playing on each other, or on everyone else, and it would erupt in flying fists and screaming insults like usual any day now.

"Is there a problem, boys?" Flitwick squeaked, and started back towards them, his face set in a few stern lines that reminded Harry he'd fought in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry shook his head and bent down to pick up the quill. "No problem, Professor," he said. "We just started a spark of magic that we didn't mean to." He didn't look at Draco, but he was sure the idiot would go along with his response. He had to. And he had to stop thinking that Harry was _groping _him.

_This is the problem with finding him interesting in a—a sexy way. You know he's never going to feel the same, and you'll just feel more and more like an idiot the longer this goes on._

"That's right, Professor," Draco said, and he was much better at the calm voice and fluttering eyelashes that teachers found so charming. "You gave us powerful magic to work with, and sometimes it startles us with just how powerful it is."

Flitwick eyed them, and Harry knew he didn't entirely believe them, given that they had perfect control of their Triad Charms most of the time. But doing well in the class seemed to have got them the kind of tolerance that normally only Hermione had. He nodded and turned back to helping Neville and Seamus with their group.

"What was that all about?" Draco hissed, before Harry could say anything.

So much for his plan to break the news about Lucius as gently as possible. Harry took a deep breath and said, "I know who the new leader of the Death Eaters is. The wolfwere helped me see them last night. They're hiding in the Forest of Dean, and—and your father is with them. Leading them, I think. Sorry," he added, as he watched Draco's face go so pale it looked as if it were made of glass.

Draco clenched his hands on the tabletop, and for a moment Harry thought he would push his chair back and hurry out of Charms. But he had probably felt the Slytherins staring at them along with everyone else, and that would draw attention, which Harry knew he didn't want. He took his hands back into his lap for a moment and said, "My father would not be doing that. My father is in Azkaban."

Well, that confirmed the trial Harry couldn't remember, at least. He nodded. "I know. Maybe it was someone using a glamour of his face. But you know that if anyone else sees him, the rumors about your family's involvement will probably start anyway."

"Yes," Draco murmured, his eyes shut and his lips moving for a moment after he started speaking, as if he was in prayer. Then he shook his head and opened his eyes, his stare grim and penetrating. "You won't spread the rumors yourself?"

"Not rumors," Harry said, and lowered his voice even further, because he could have sworn that the Slytherins were staring at them harder than usual. "But I have to tell the Aurors where the Death Eaters are. They'll need to know who to look for, and if that person is still using the glamour of your father's face, then they'll need to know how to find the leader."

Draco's hand was over his a moment later, tightening down so desperately that Harry winced. He started to open his mouth to make a joke out of who was groping who, but the look on Draco's face dried up all the words, and apparently all the saliva, in his mouth. He sat back and wished they were permitted cups of water in Charms. Then he looked elsewhere-just to make sure that Flitwick wasn't circling towards them, of course. Not because he was afraid he couldn't continue meeting Draco's eyes.

"You-you don't have to tell them," Draco said, and he was practically playing with Harry's fingers now, picking them up and putting them back down on the table. His head was bowed and his voice was a low murmur. "You don't. The Aurors could find out the truth from some other source. They might have by now and be watching them, anyway. You don't know. And you've never liked Klein."

Harry swallowed. This had been what he was more than half-afraid of, and of course it had to turn up now like some scenario out of nightmare. He didn't want to refuse Draco, he _didn't_, but the thought of weighing Draco's comfort and peace of mind against the physical safety of other people-

Either way he made the decision, he would hurt someone. There was no right thing to do.

"The last time I talked to Klein, we rather made it up," he mumbled. "And what if the Aurors aren't watching, if they don't have any idea?"

Draco closed his eyes, then opened them. "I'll let you tell them," he said. "Send an anonymous owl. On one condition."

"All right," Harry said, while part of his mind rebelled and whispered that Draco _couldn't _tell him what to do, not if Harry didn't allow him to.

"As long as you come with me first, to the Forest of Dean, and try to find out who's using the glamour of my father's face, and strip it off him," Draco said, with such deadly, soft calm that it took Harry a moment to realize what he was saying. "I don't care who they capture, as long as it's not someone who can convince people they're my father."

"Draco," Harry said, and Draco tilted his head to the sound of his name, and the look in his eyes-

It was the way he'd looked during sixth year.

Harry flinched. Draco felt the flinch travel through him, but he said nothing. Either he sensed that that was the best way to win his argument at this point, or he just didn't know what to say. He sat there, and Harry could feel the way he was holding himself back, the way his hands didn't flick open and shut and the way he didn't look off to the side because of strict control.

On the one hand, it was the sort of adventure that Harry would have suggested or done without hesitation during his fifth year. It was the sort of thing he had done with Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Luna and Neville when they had gone to the Ministry. And he had known Luna a much shorter time than he'd known Draco right then.

_On the other hand, she wasn't an enemy for seven years, and then someone you feel sorry for but can't do much for._

Harry swallowed. Well, whatever the thing was with Draco, and whenever he would be able to figure it out, it had already gone beyond pity. So that wasn't a good enough reason to refuse to do what Draco wanted.

"I have no idea how we can do that safely," he said, leaning in and lowering his voice. "And-Draco, as awful as this probably sounds to you, I would rather see your family's reputation tarnished again than see you hurt."

Draco stared at him, his lips slightly parted. Then he laughed. It was a gentle, still sound that seemed to ripple through Harry and settle somewhere near the base of his spine, and make it possible for him to breathe again.

"That's not awful," he said. "That's-nice." Again, Harry had the sense that he was holding himself back, that he would have said something different if they were alone, or at least in some other place than Charms class. "But I think I can guarantee that we can go in safety. There are still some spells that my father taught me and that I know how to use, unlike the incantation that ruined my friends. I can-I can make sure that we don't get caught. By anyone. Death Eaters or Aurors."

"Or professors?" Harry asked skeptically. Maybe it was silly, but he worried more about getting out of the school without getting caught than he did about the Death Eaters catching them in the Forest. Maybe because he'd spent all of last year running around places like the Forest of Dean and only been caught by Death Eaters once.

"Or professors." Draco's smile came and went. "I promise. Trust me, and I can teach you how to perform those spells, too. And with as powerful as you are, I don't think I have to worry about us escaping _alive_."

Harry bit his lips. "Okay," he said. "But-there's something else that's important, too. You say that you want to strip the glamour off this bloke's face. But what's going to keep him from just putting it back on again the instant we're gone? We might reveal that he's not Lucius to his followers, but unless we had Aurors waiting right there or unless the other Death Eaters are excited about following your father in particular-"

"I know a spell that will prevent that," Draco said, and again his smile came and went. "I promise you, of all the problems that I'm concerned about, the least important is that one."

Harry nodded unwillingly. "But then, why not just owl the Ministry with the information about that spell? Then they could use it when they captured them, and they would know that he wasn't your father."

Draco let out a long, rattling stream of breath. "Because I don't trust the Ministry to be anything but incompetent," he said. "And because, frankly, I don't think they would use it. They would be too interested in an excuse to destroy my family."

"Even if it meant people would blame them for failing to keep Azkaban secure from escapes?"

Draco shook his head suddenly, hair flying, and again Flitwick started towards them. Harry held up a hand and looked pleadingly at their professor, and Flitwick hesitated. Harry could read clearly in his eyes that it would only be for a second, though, so he turned back to Draco and tried to listen.

"I can't think of every single problem and every single thing that might come up," Draco whispered, so insistently that Harry felt his breath even though they were still several inches apart. "I need to do this, and either you help me or you don't."

And put like that, there was no alternative. Harry could owl the Ministry or tell Klein or explain to someone else what was going on and let the professors deal with Draco, but not if he wanted to keep Draco's friendship.

_And you've always been willing to do mad things for your friends. Why is this any different? _

"Fine," he hissed back, and then sat up, because Flitwick was behind them and speaking about Triad Charms. Draco looked up and gave the professor a dazzling smile, then turned a look on Harry that had a command in it. Harry nodded and made the right preparations to lend his power to Draco, which probably didn't feel as natural as it should because they hadn't practiced as often as they should have.

_Then again, it's a little hard to worry about schoolwork when you have the threat of death and discovery and losing your family hanging over your head._

When Draco cast, using Harry's power, the resulting _Incendio _melted several stones in the wall behind Flitwick's desk. Flitwick raced about putting out the fires and squeaking praise of them at the same time, and Draco leaned back in his chair, his face pale and intent, one hand rising as if to toy with the buttons of his robe.

Harry saw several Slytherins watching Draco and whispering, and wondered what they knew about Draco's gestures-nervous or otherwise-that he didn't. He settled them by glaring so ferociously that there was a mad scramble to hide from him. At least some of them, fucked-up Memory Charm or not, had learned from what happened to Parkinson. They might fear the wrath of the professors if they injured Harry more than Harry himself, but Harry didn't care. Let them hate, so long as they feared.

When he remembered where that quote came from, he really had to pause and consider what the bloody hell he was doing.

But another look at Draco's face reminded him of what they both had to lose, and he remained silent.

* * *

"You have not visited me in long enough that I wondered if you intended to return."

Harry winced a little as he watched Snape's fingers hunt among the flat fern leaves in front of him, and then wondered why. Snape had said many more cutting things, some in recent memory. And he hadn't said anything about needing more ingredients. They had apparently solved the problem of the werewolf blood and how it might have affected Harry. There was nothing more for them to discuss. Harry had visited as much out of curiosity as out of thinking that Snape might need him.

"Sorry," Harry said, leaning back against the side of the Shrieking Shack, unable to conceal a yawn. Yep, another night's interrupted sleep. At least Draco wanted to take a day or so to _plan _before they set off for the Forest of Dean, so Harry might be able to sleep through tomorrow night. Maybe. If he could avoid Klein's suspicious eyes, already bent on him. "I just-well, I learned something I had to tell Draco, and it disturbed him."

"I see," Snape said, and turned back to the potion in front of him. It had turned black like tar, and smelled like tar, and Harry couldn't imagine that he was going to drink it. But maybe that wasn't the final step and it would change again before it got to the stage where he had to consume it. "And what in the world could disturb Mr. Malfoy enough that he would come to you for comfort? Something else about his friends?"

Harry yawned, and watched as Snape punctured a single smelly bubble from the potion with a dirty nail. He hadn't had enough sleep. That had to be the reason he said what he did, and not some lingering hope that Snape would help them. God knew the git couldn't help anyone right now. "That his father's trying to be the new Voldemort. Or someone wearing a glamour of his father's face, anyway."

Snape stared at him, and didn't puncture the next bubble that crept up. Harry waited, because for all he knew this one was supposed to creep past the rim, but when it got to the point that it would swell over, he made a choked noise and pointed. The smell was getting bad enough to make his eyes water.

Snape gave a short curse under his breath and stabbed the bubble. It broke. "That nearly ruined the potion," he said, not looking at Harry. "I must ask that you _not _visit if your visits are to be so destructive."

"Whatever." Harry slumped back against the wall and rubbed his hand into his eyes. "But Draco's convinced it's someone using a glamour of his father's face, because his father is in Azkaban. So he wants to go to the forest and strip the glamour off. He says he has some special charm that will prevent it from coming back." Another yawn slipped past his control.

"No such charm exists," Snape murmured, and concentrated on stirring the cauldron with a ladle that looked like tarnished silver to Harry, which meant it almost matched the color of the potion. "Study how he might, he will never find one. Perhaps he means to kill the man and rescue the good name of his family."

"He won't let me contact the Aurors." Harry leaned his head further back. The rough wooden wall felt surprisingly comfortable for the nape of his neck. "I think he believes it's a glamour, and he believes he can take it off. And letting the Aurors take this man means that his family's reputation is down the drain. He believes it."

"And that, of course, is enough reason to run away and put yourselves in danger."

Harry looked up, then blinked. "Why, Snape," he said gently. "Was that a note of warning I heard? Could it be that you're still a professor after all, underneath, despite you saying that you want to leave everything about that life behind?"

"I am concerned for the boy I took Unbreakable Vows to protect, and the other one I raised as a sacrifice who never understood his proper place in the scheme of things until he had to die or save the world." Snape glanced away from the potion long enough to stare into Harry's eyes, and then jerked his head back down towards the cauldron. "Those Vows no longer apply, due to the wording that his mother chose. But the boy I made them for is still alive. And so is the other, Albus notwithstanding."

"I don't think Dumbledore would have asked me to die if he thought there was any other choice," Harry said. "But I had to kill the Horcrux inside me."

Snape made a sharp movement with one hand, and Harry thought he regretted starting the bloody subject. "It does not matter," he murmured. "But there is no spell that works exactly as Mr. Malfoy thinks it does, and if you insist on going with him, you put yourselves both in danger. You should use the knowledge the way that it first occurred to you to do and stay within the protection of the Aurors."

"That wouldn't prevent Draco from leaving on his own," Harry pointed out. "At least this way, he trusts me enough to take me with him."

This time, Snape's stare was long enough that another bubble crept up, but he must have learned to watch it from the corner of his eye and simply popped it without looking away from Harry. "You have thought that far ahead," he said, but it didn't sound like a question and so Harry waited for the real one. "You care that much about him?"

Harry nodded. "And I don't think it's the right time to leave him alone. Not when he has his friends to worry about, and now his father."

Snape's face was unreadable as he watched him. Then he nodded. "Perhaps you are right," he said. "But nevertheless, you will take a potion I will brew with you. Come back tomorrow night to fetch it from me. I can make it from the ingredients I have here."

_So much for a night's uninterrupted sleep, _Harry thought wryly, but the thought of the greater burdens on Snape and Draco made him nod at once. "Thank you," he added.

Snape turned back to the cauldron with a grunt, and Harry knew himself dismissed. He made his way down the tunnel beneath the Shack, trying to stay under the Cloak and not reveal himself to any watching Aurors with the volume of his yawns. The only good thing about his weariness was that, once he was up in the Tower and then in bed, sleep came quickly.


	21. The Forest of Dean

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-One-The Forest of Dean_

"You're ready, Potter."

Draco didn't make it a question. Harry wondered if that was because he knew how insulting that would be, or because he just didn't care for Harry's answer. Watching his profile from the side, the way Draco's hair seemed to quiver and his eyelashes beat a nervous tattoo up and down, Harry knew which answer he would bet on.

They stood at the very outer limit of the wards surrounding Hogwarts, on the road to Hogsmeade. The night was quiet around them, without the hum of the spells and the breathing of the other boys Harry was accustomed to hear if he was wandering the castle or lying awake in the Gryffindor boys' bedroom. Draco had a faint _Lumos _Charm on his wand, giving Harry the ability to see, but beyond that faint radiance, all faded away into moonlight and shadows.

"Yes, I am," Harry said, and spent a moment juggling his wand and Invisibility Cloak-it'd got them this far, though it had been a hard fit for both of them underneath it-and the potion Snape had given him last night. The vial was made of hard green glass that Harry had hesitated to add charms to, just in case he ruined the brew inside. "Snape gave me this. He said we should each drink half of it."

Draco frowned and lifted the vial up to the moonlight, no doubt seeing things in the potion and the cork and maybe even the glass that Harry couldn't. "Why would he do that?" he murmured at last. "It makes no sense."

"Why?" Harry darted a glance around at the trees. As yet, nothing had come out either to pursue them or yell at them, but he could hear sharp cracks, and now and then caught a glimpse of golden eyes peering from the Forest.

"It's a Philomela's Revenge potion," Draco murmured. "It will make us move in absolute silence, but-we can't hear each other, either. That's part of it being absolute." He tilted the potion and stared at it again, then stared at Harry. "You didn't ask him what it was, did you?" he added in a different tone. "You took a potion from Professor Snape and didn't bother to investigate it."

Harry hated the wonder in Draco's voice, because it sounded like a nasty, jeering kind of wonder. He shrugged. "He told me that we wouldn't succeed in this-_thing_ without it. And he told me there's no charm that can strip a glamour off someone's face permanently, and that you're wrong if you think so," he added. If he could get Draco angry at Snape instead of him, then he might as well.

"He doesn't know every spell," said Draco, and instead of getting angry, his face also had a nasty, jeering little smile on it. He nodded once or twice as if in reply to questions Harry hadn't asked, his face distant and awful in the moonlight. "Especially not every spell my ancestors invented."

"This is a Malfoy spell, then?" Harry asked cautiously. He should have reckoned on that, he decided. It made sense that Malfoys would invent such things purely for the pleasure of inventing them-and of having weapons at their disposal that their enemies might not have.

"Yes, it is." Draco took a step forwards, and then abruptly swung the dark green vial up and cast a stronger _Lumos. _Harry hissed at him, staring backwards at Hogwarts, but so far no one came charging out to catch them. "Wait," Draco said, in a tone of revelation. "This isn't Philomela's Revenge."

"It isn't?" Harry glanced at Draco, then at the potion, but of course it looked no different than ever to him.

"No," Draco said, and his smile was growing into an evil, delighted one that he turned and included Harry in, so Harry couldn't help but return it. "It's similar, but-I take it all back, Potter. This potion will be useful after all." He uncorked the vial and tilted it against his teeth, waiting for a moment before he swallowed. The potion was too thick to creep down his throat until then, Harry reckoned.

Draco swallowed several times before he seemed to think that he had cleared his throat of all the potion, and then turned and offered the vial to Harry. His eyes gleamed with a challenge that Harry knew perfectly well how to translate. If Harry trusted him enough to drink the potion without asking what it was and why Snape had wanted them to take it, that meant one thing. And if Harry insisted on asking questions, it would mean something else, something that Draco would know how to translate in turn.

Harry didn't much like either thought, but he took the vial and swallowed the potion with an effort. The taste wasn't as horrible as he thought it ought to be, rather like very sour apples, but it did stick in his mouth something awful. He wanted to spit, but the spit would probably contain some valuable part of his portion. He grimaced when he was done, though.

He turned back to Draco and found him standing with his eyes shut, as if waiting for a cue. Harry opened his mouth to complain, but no words emerged. Of course. The potion was working already. Nothing they did could make a sound.

_Bloody well hope that Malfoy can Apparate nonverbally, because I don't know that I can, _Harry thought in irritation.

Then Draco glanced at him and smiled. _Can you hear me, Harry?_

His words cut oddly through the silence, and it took Harry a moment to realize that he heard them in his head, sort of the way he had heard the words when Voldemort possessed him-only much, much better than that, he hastily qualified to himself. _Yes, I can, _he said back, and found that it wasn't hard to reach Draco's mind. His thoughts aimed in the right direction, and there it was. _I reckon that you can do the same thing, and this is what the potion does? _

Draco rolled his eyes, and probably snorted, but that sound didn't seem to come across. _Well, unless you think that we just developed a spontaneous telepathic bond, yes._

Harry wondered for a moment whether Draco would be able to read his feelings as well as his mind and tell what kind of thing Harry was developing for him, but there was no sign in Draco's eyes or face that he could. Harry let his breath out shakily, but, of course, heard nothing; he only felt it flow across his lips. _Fine. Will anyone among the Death Eaters be able to sense it? I mean, this was a man smart enough to think of glamouring his face like someone in Azkaban. He might be smart enough to set up wards that would sense potions._

_ A straightforward thought at last, Potter. _Draco gave him a smirk and turned towards the road in front of them, holding out an arm. Deciding that he _did _probably know how to Apparate nonverbally, Harry moved over to take it. _But no, few wards can do so. Potions flow in the blood and body of the wizard who takes them, and are surrounded by his magical core. They are not separate, the way that spells that surround the body are._

Harry blinked as he laid his hand over Draco's arm. It was eerie to watch the cloth flowing as Draco's robes bunched and know that he should hear the sound, but to hear nothing. _I wish you could teach Potions. You explain things more clearly than Slughorn and Snape combined._

Draco lost his smile, but Harry couldn't tell why. Disappointing as that was, it was at least confirmation that the potion didn't allow them to read all of each other's minds.

Draco held his wand high and assumed an expression of intense concentration. Harry held his breath, in case it would help, and moments later the squeeze of Apparition surrounded him.

* * *

They appeared in a clearing that made Harry ache, for a moment, for the time when a bunch of evil wizards were chasing him and trying to catch him and his life was _simple._

Without thought, he raised a Screening Charm around them, followed by a Shield Charm, and was glad that they both seemed to work despite him just being able to mouth the incantations; he _knew _he couldn't do the first one nonverbally. Snape's potion was great for sound, but did nothing to keep them from being seen by a Death Eater sentry watching this portion of the woods.

Then he bent close to Draco and whispered, "This looks close to the place I described. Which direction do you want to go?"

Draco looked at him patiently, and Harry flushed, then repeated the words in his head. Draco seemed to spend several minutes considering the choices, and maybe when he was thinking deliberately like that, the potion could help Harry pick it up; he got a definite sense of _something, _clockwork or something like that, turning or ticking over nearby.

_East, _Draco decided at last. _That leads into the darker part of the forest, and that's the best place for Death Eaters to hide. They like symbols. _

Harry saw him put his hand on his left arm, and pretended not to notice. Yes, he was learning how to handle Draco. _East it is, then, _he agreed, and cast a mobile Screening Charm that would hover around them and prevent anyone from seeing the light on Draco's wand. It also limited their visibility, but one couldn't have everything.

_Is that the best you can do, Potter? _Draco reached into a bag slung over his shoulder and took out something that looked like a wheel made of tarnished silver with black and glittering spokes leading out to the rims. He breathed on it, and it began to spin, moving faster and faster until it was a blur of motion. He nodded curtly at Harry. _Remove the silly Screening Charm, and I'll show you._

Harry experienced a brief spasm of panic as he obeyed. It seemed part of him still distrusted Draco after all, or at least thought he was out to ruin Harry's life any way he could. Bringing him all the way here just to push him off on the Death Eaters seemed odd, but it would be convenient, in a weird way-

_Shut up, _Harry told himself firmly, and watched as the air in front of him shimmered and brought up something else that looked like a Screening Charm made of black, transparent lace. Draco turned to him.

_It prevents anyone from seeing us, but we can see out. It's a Black invention. _Draco balanced the wheel on the air in front of him with a simple Levitation Charm, and began leisurely walking through the crumpled grass. _You didn't inherit everything good when you took the title._

_ I didn't want the stupid title!_ Harry snapped back as he walked beside Draco, watching his feet rise and fall without any sound. It was more than slightly eerie, and he could see why not many people used Philomela's Revenge, even if they were brilliant nonverbal spellcasters. _And I don't think there's a title, anyway. Just an old house with a lot of spooky screaming things I don't want. And some money. And a house-elf._

Draco didn't have to speak. He looked at Harry with his eyebrows raised and then turned back to what Harry could now make out as a regular, if faint, path in front of them.

_Shut up, _Harry said anyway, because some things needed to be said.

They crossed the Forest, more than once passing a badger or a deer or a fox that glanced up and stared around, apparently puzzled by smells without a trace of sound or sight to link them to. Harry squinted as the trees ahead seemed to grow brighter, and then smiled. Yes, the light came from a giant bonfire like the one he had seen in the vision. Or else a bunch of Death Eaters dancing around a steady light so it would cast scary shadows, but Harry knew which one he was willing to bet on.

Draco abruptly slammed an arm into place across his chest, and his mental voice in Harry's head seemed somehow softer despite all evidence that it couldn't be. _I can feel the presence of wards, like the ones the Dark Lord put on the Manor when he took it over. Be careful. They can sense us by the sweat of our bodies and the beat of our hearts. It's more than a little insane, and they'll hurt us if they find us. _

Harry would have said he knew that, but Draco's words hinted at whole new dimensions of pain. He stood where he was, felt the pressure of Draco's arm in a way he didn't want to, and said, _If they have wards like that, how can we outwit them? And how do we know when we're close enough to trip them?_

Draco reached into the bag that he'd carried the wheel in and took out a large book in response. The book creaked, and Harry noticed its pages were chained shut. Squinting, he thought he could make out teeth on their edges, and shuddered as Draco opened it. The teeth shut on empty air a few inches from his fingers, though, and Draco smirked at him again. _This is what comes from having the right blood, and not simply an inheritance you shouldn't have had._

_ Sirius never wanted it, and neither did I. I would have traded it all for having him back again._

Draco let his smile fade, the way he had when Harry said he would rather Draco taught Potions, and turned back to the book, his hunched shoulders shutting Harry out of what he was doing more effectively than a locked door. Harry frowned and glanced at the fire again. A four-legged shadow slinked by. Probably a werewolf, he decided, and lifted his wand just in case.

Then Draco thought a series of syllables that wriggled across Harry's brain like inky black snakes, and not the kind that were fun to talk to, either. He tried to listen, but the only thought he caught was far too many s's and k's. Then Draco shut the book, put it back in the bag, and stretched out his hand. Instead of his wand, a knife hung there.

_I need your blood._

And this was the point where Harry found out that he really _did _trust the git, idiot though that made him. He hesitated no longer than three seconds before holding out his hand, although he did think in Draco's direction, _What? Your superior blood isn't important enough for this? _

_ My blood deserves to stay in my veins and go on keeping me alive to produce the next generation of Malfoy children, thanks, _Draco retorted smartly, and Harry was glad that Draco couldn't feel Harry's odd reaction to the thought of Malfoy children. Draco drew the knife gently across Harry's hand, and at first Harry thought he hadn't been cut. Then he felt the well of the blood, the thick drops on his thumb, and the single sting of pain. Draco held his hand near Harry's and said something with a movement of his lips that Harry doubted he would have been able to hear even if they'd been still in the world of sound. Then he held up his hand, and there was a thin scarlet thread stretching away from the heel of his palm to the black lace veil in front of them that the wheel had created.

_We have half an hour, no more, _Draco said. _These wards are the kind of thing that you can only cast if you don't care about suffering and pain. I used blood magic by drawing from the veins of someone who cares a _lot _about that kind of thing, and it's a natural counter. _He glanced at Harry. _Come on._

_What was that about whose blood was important, again? _Harry asked smugly.

Draco ignored him, and turned towards the fire. After a moment of hovering behind him, and half-expecting an answer even though he knew he wouldn't get one, Harry followed.

A few sentries passed them on their rounds, people in black Death Eater robes and white Death Eater masks. Harry blinked at that. He had thought they would at least attempt to disguise what they were doing, but if someone stumbled across the camp, even someone who wasn't him or Draco, they would recognize the symbols in a minute and help raise the alarm.

_Maybe that's what this bloke wants, though. Maybe he wants everyone to follow him, and fear him, just the way they would if he was Voldemort._

And then Harry frowned as he realized that he was acting as if this man definitely _wasn't _Lucius Malfoy, just someone who had adopted his face to play a part. He would support Draco in the things he believed, but they weren't always going to be true, and he had to be ready in case it turned out that, this time, it really _wasn't_.

_This is confusing, _he thought, and didn't realize that he'd directed the thought to Draco until Draco stiffened in front of him and glanced once over his shoulder.

_I don't care, _Draco said. _This isn't about you._

That much, Harry could admit. He nodded back, and watched for tripwires and more mundane traps as they walked through the wards, which bent above them and then sprang back. No one could see them, no one could hear them, but Harry had to assume they would be at least a _little _suspicious if Harry or Draco tripped something and no one was there when they came to look.

The big fire was the center of the camp, as Harry saw a moment later, but smaller ones blazed in front of tents that looked a lot like the one he and Ron and Hermione had used last year. Some of them had flaps drawn back, and Harry caught glimpses of shadowy rooms that probably meant they were using wizardspace inside. A lot of the Death Eaters in the camp had weapons in their hands, or bones, or musical instruments of silver and steel they were polishing. Harry frowned and glanced at Draco, wondering what he knew about that, but Draco was turning his head slowly, scanning the camp in front of them for his father.

_Or the man who looks like his father, _Harry reminded himself. He had to keep both possibilities in mind.

He looked for werewolves, because he didn't think Draco's spell or Snape's potion would shield them against scent, but saw none. Perhaps they only transformed on specific evenings, or they were all out hunting right now.

Draco led them on a delicate, wandering path through the middle of the camp, one that let them avoid the people-a lot of them didn't move around much, anyway, just sat there as if waiting for something-but gave them a good view inside the tents and past the fires. At one point, Harry saw Parkinson, standing with her head bowed, her arms extended tensely in front of her. She held what looked like a silver harp, only the harp had a sharp upper edge and was slicing into her palms. Harry nudged Draco and pointed. _Do you know what she's doing?_

Draco was staring straight ahead of him. Harry turned and looked. And there was Lucius Malfoy, or the tall man who looked like him, walking between some of the fires, nodding to the people who stared at him. Not all of them bowed or nodded back, Harry noted. _Maybe some of them aren't sure about following him?_

_ Or the person he appears to be, _Draco snapped back. His fingers were curled around the book again, and he was flicking through pages without looking at them. _That's not my father. My father doesn't walk like that._

_ You would be the one who would know best, _Harry answered, since he hadn't really seen Lucius many times in circumstances that would let him know how he walked. If it was a glamour, though, it was a good one. The face and the hair and the way he wore the clothes seemed exactly the same.

_Since when did you notice how the Malfoy men wear their clothes? _

Luckily for Harry's burning face, that seemed like a private, inward-directed thought, not one that Draco could hear. Draco didn't turn around or make fun of him or say anything, which he would _have _to if he heard it, right? He had found the page he wanted in the book, and he only moved to the side as the false Lucius passed so he wouldn't bump into them. He was whispering the words of the spell, feverishly from the way his lips moved, and Harry held his shoulders and tried to remember how long it had been since they used the blood spell that would let them pass the wards.

The false Lucius turned back towards them for a moment, and laughed at something Parkinson said. Harry couldn't really hear what it was. The crackle of the fire and the sound of his own heartbeat were acting to dim it.

The spell seemed to be coming to the end. Draco was trembling and lunging against Harry's hands now, and Harry kept having to readjust his grip, digging his fingers deep to feel real skin past the slippery cloth. Then Draco looked up and extended his wand towards his father, under the wheel, past the edge of the lace that it set up to protect them.

The false Lucius turned around as the spell hit him. His face seemed to tremble and shimmer, and for a moment Harry was reminded of watching water run down the Dursleys' car one summer when he'd had to clean it. He felt his hopes surge. The spell was working! Now they only had to get out of here, and if he could use enough magic to break the anti-Apparition wards, it ought to be-

Then the magic faded, and the ripples died away, leaving Harry blinking in the heat shimmers from the fire and nothing else.

And Lucius's face was still on his head.

_No!_ Draco screamed, loudly enough that Harry felt his head pound with the force of the shout. Then he sagged to his knees, and at the same moment, his grip on the book faltered and the little spinning wheel fell to the ground in front of them and stopped.

And they were standing visible in the middle of a camp full of Death Eaters.

Lucius took a step towards them, pointing at them. Other people seized the weapons they'd been polishing and started running in their direction, yelling. Harry heard snarls and saw werewolves emerge from the woods, dropping the rabbits and birds it looked like they'd been hunting for the rush.

And Draco just sat there, his head in his hands and the Black artifacts lying on the ground in front of him.

_Oh, well, _Harry thought, and held up his wand, ready to cast the first spell that he had decided on before they ever came here. _Not like you didn't know it might go wrong._


	22. Bursting the Bounds

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Two-Bursting the Bounds_

_Reducto Catenis!_

Three Blasting Curses unfolded in a chain in front of Harry and Draco, hurling the nearest Death Eaters away and into other Death Eaters. Harry saw them hit a few of the werewolves, too, and was glad to see that they didn't have any unusual sense of balance or even any real strength, from the way it sent them flying. He bent low, muttered a Lightening Charm for Draco and Shrinking Charms for the Black artifacts, and seized all of them, running for the Forest.

Of course someone got in front of him, a tall, stern woman with white hair and grey eyes who might have been Lucius's cousin. She couldn't seem to see them well-perhaps part of Draco's spell was still working-but she fired off a curse that proved she didn't have to see them to hurt them. Harry dropped to his knees and bent his head under it, feeling like someone waiting for a headsman. The spell went by closely enough to ruffle the back of his neck.

Draco moaned something, and started to struggle. Harry paused to roll his eyes. _Wonderful. _He cast a mild Calming Charm this time that would keep Draco from running away, and tightened a chain around the woman's feet with a nonverbal incantation. She staggered and fell, too, and Harry once again headed towards the far side of the circle.

He knew he could defeat the Death Eaters, if he turned and fought them. He knew that he didn't want to get involved in those fights, for more than one excellent reason. He would kill if he did, his mind would go clear and he would do what he had to do to protect Draco and himself.

And the people he had killed in the last month were enough.

Something soared over his head and landed in front of him, then turned with a snarl. One of the werewolves, Harry saw. This one looked like it stood two meters tall at the shoulder, and the teeth that parted around the tongue let loose a wash of stinking breath.

Harry dodged to the side and cast the first charm that sprang to mind, an illusion flavored with memory. Fenrir Greyback materialized in front of him, springing the way he had when he tried to kill Harry by leaping out of the ring of Aurors.

The werewolf crouched flat with a yelp, and then rolled over on its back with its paws waving in the air. Again, Harry jumped and headed towards the Forest.

A robe snapped around someone's ankles, and then Lucius Malfoy, or the person imitating him, was in front of them, aiming his wand. His voice sounded like Lucius's, although Harry had to admit that he wasn't as familiar with it as Draco would be.

"I can see you. I know who you are and what you're doing here. And whatever my son told you about me, it wasn't enough."

A hot wind began to blow against Harry's face, coming from Lucius's lazily lifted wand. He heard a piercing scream in the next moment, and then the air around him turned gold and dusty yellow, a creature soaring towards his face the way his illusion of Greyback had flown at the werewolf, its paws spread wide.

Harry didn't hesitate. This one, he could kill. _Ventus rufus!_

The spell blew straight through the creature on the wings of a knife-edged wind. The creature split apart in bloody chunks, and Harry tried to duck so that it wouldn't spatter him in the face the way the werewolf blood had. He thought he succeeded, though Draco moaned as wetness pooled in his eyes.

He looked up to find Lucius Malfoy staring at him in undisguised shock. Probably he hadn't thought Harry Potter would use a spell like that.

Harry smiled back and took advantage of the distraction while Lucius was still staring at them. _Caeco!_

Lucius was the one who staggered this time, his hand flying up to his eyes. Harry ran for it. The blinding spell was temporary in most cases, but Harry couldn't pretend that he would feel bad if it was permanent this time, except as far as Draco was concerned.

Draco. Who had come here so convinced that his father wasn't his father, that he could clear his family's name and not have to have Aurors involved until after they were sure that the leader was not Lucius Malfoy.

Harry tightened his teeth. He would have to think about that later, would have to reassure Draco later, would have to decide what he was going to tell the Aurors _later_. They were only a few feet beyond the tents now, but that meant they were within a few feet of freedom, as well. He had to-

A Tripping Jinx coiled around his legs. Harry ran on and slipped to one knee, then staggered up again. He had kept from falling a few times in practice with Dumbledore's Army because of moves like that.

But it meant that someone had had the chance to catch him up, and that person was Pansy Parkinson, her long hair flying behind her and her eyes so bright with rapture that Harry hated her.

"My lord, my lord, he's here!" she bellowed over her shoulder, and trained her wand on Draco, her smile rippling across her face. "They're both here."

Harry still didn't want to kill her. He didn't want to kill anyone tonight, if he could help it. She was under Draco's spell, she didn't know what she was doing, he could invent any kind of excuses for her that he wanted and they would all be true.

But it was also true that he wasn't going to let her capture or delay them any more than absolutely necessary.

He began to whisper the spell he needed, not that she would hear anything with Snape's potion still functioning. He repeated it several times, and felt the power building up in him, getting ready to strike through his wand. He knew it would hurt, especially with the magic he had already used this evening, but he could-he would have to-Apparate them out of the Forest. As soon as they were beyond the spells spread around the Death Eater camp that prevented it, of course.

When he was ready, he tilted his head back and cast the spell around himself, to include both Parkinson and the people running up behind them. Those people included werewolves, from the sound of soft paws. Harry wondered if it would work on them, if he had made it strong enough, if it was going to be possible to cast it at all when he couldn't speak the incantation aloud-

And then the spell soared away from him, and Harry realized he needn't have worried after all.

From a patch of calm ground where he and Draco crouched, concentric rings of force spread, down into the earth, waking it, making the trees tremble, ripping up the tents, shaking everyone around them from their feet. Harry leaped up and felt the ground pause as if to breathe, and then the second earthquake came, stronger than the first, deep and persistent and violent, making the Forest actually appear to bounce in his vision.

Shouts and panicked screams came from behind them as the third quake started. Harry knew he would have to Apparate them from here, and screw waiting for the wards to dissolve. He would punch straight through them if he had to. And there might still be a little bit of protection left from the spell Draco had done that used his blood.

He lifted his wand, he braced his muscles, he made sure that he had hold of Draco, cradling him close, and he threw all his remaining power into the Apparition, tearing through the wards along with casting the spell. He thought he felt them tear and wisp around him like cobwebs, and wanted to laugh. _Not so strong after all._

Then the world blinked around them and they were on the grounds outside the front gate of Hogwarts, sprawled on the grass. Gasps from close by alerted Harry they'd been seen. He tried to lift his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm-

And exhaustion rushed in on him, trampled him, drowned him, smashed him, and made it impossible for him to rise. He dropped his head to the ground and found that his fingers weighed too much to move.

_Oh. Reckon the anti-Apparition spells were stronger than I thought after all._

* * *

"He must not be moved."

_Madam Pomfrey, how lovely to hear your voice again, _Harry thought, and then grimaced as he realized that he'd nearly opened his mouth and said it aloud. He didn't know yet if Snape's potion was still functioning, and that meant he had to be careful of anything he said, in case words popped out that could implicate him or Draco.

He let one eye sneak open and his hand move around on the bed as if randomly, feeling at the sheets. Well, at least no one had thought they should restrain him, as one particularly mad Healer at St. Mungo's had thought they should that summer. And he was in the hospital wing, and could see a shock of blond hair sticking out of the sheets of the bed next to him.

Someone cleared her throat, and Harry realized there must be more people in the hospital wing than he thought. That was the way McGonagall sounded right before she spoke about her disappointment on the subject of Transfiguration homework. "While of course I am glad that Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy escaped harm, I _must _insist on speaking to them about their whereabouts tonight as soon as possible. They are already under a great deal of scrutiny because of their...pasts, and they are among the few students currently attending the school who are legal adults in the wizarding world. We must know what happened."

"And you'll know, Headmistress," Madam Pomfrey said, and Harry saw a shadow move across the corner of his eye, as though she was shifting to plant herself between them and McGonagall. "As soon as it's not dangerous to wake Mr. Malfoy up."

_What happened to Draco? _Harry nearly sat up, but he wasn't sure if that was the best idea at the moment. He concentrated harder on the blond hair, but it told him nothing. Draco lay still, and that could be the result of either injuries or a sleeping potion. He couldn't tell.

"As long as you understand the importance of this," McGonagall said, and walked towards the door of the hospital wing, from the sound. Then she paused. "Professor Klein, are you coming?"

"I must speak with Mr. Potter," Klein's low voice said, and this time the shadow moved towards Harry. "I think he is awake?"

"He should be," Madam Pomfrey said, and turned back towards Harry with a click of her shoes. "He had no injuries, mental or physical. Though if I find out what he did to cause such magical exhaustion..."

_I hope what happened to Draco is just the shock he fell into when he saw his father, then, nothing physical. _Harry had thought he'd guarded Draco well enough that any attack would have hit him before it hit Draco. Things had been so mad that he wasn't sure, though.

Harry decided it was useless to try and pretend any longer, and if Snape's potion was still active, Klein would just have to put off questioning him. He sat up and yawned, then glanced at the Auror. She gave a faint nod as though to say she understood and appreciated his circumstances. The gentle smile on her face contrasted with the warning in her eyes, though.

"Where were you, Mr. Potter?" Klein nodded to him a second time and took a seat on air at the side of his bed, watching him intently. "And why did you not use the Portkey that you have on your person to escape?"

"I didn't have it with me," Harry said. He was actually telling the truth. He had left the Portkey behind because, for all he knew, it was the carrier of the tracking spell, and he couldn't risk Klein stopping him and Draco before they left the school grounds. "I wanted-we wanted to do this on our own."

"It was a planned project between you and Mr. Malfoy, then?" McGonagall loomed up behind Klein like a planet behind its moon. "We thought at first that Mr. Malfoy had kidnapped you."

Harry hesitated for a long time. He had the choice now of either lying and likely being caught, or telling the truth and maybe blackening the Malfoy family's name further. He wished he could have talked to Draco before this.

Klein leaned nearer, trying to loom in her own way and intimidate him. Harry glared back.

And felt a sudden rush of shocked pleasure as he saw the way Klein flinched, and remembered that he had some weapons of his own, if he dared to use them.

"No, he didn't kidnap me," Harry said. "But he did ask me to keep quiet about what we went to do, because he was terrified of what the Ministry would do and say." He leaned forwards and lowered his voice to the point that Klein swayed towards him to hear. "Why did the Ministry allow Lucius Malfoy to escape their custody, Auror?"

"What?" Klein started to stand, and then reached out and placed a hand on the bed to hold herself in place. Her face had changed color, but already Harry could see her smoothing her imaginary ruffled feathers, making herself calm down. "Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban, and will stay there."

"It must have been his evil twin who was in the Forest of Dean, then," Harry said, "organizing the Death Eaters for a new invasion. A new attack. His evil twin who led them all this time, and who commanded Fenrir Greyback to attack you, and who sent the Death Eaters into the Forbidden Forest. Because when Draco, who thought he should take care of this on his own because it's his family's honor and his family's shame, cast a spell at him that should have removed any glamour, his face stayed exactly as it was."

Klein opened her mouth far enough Harry thought he could see every one of her gums, but said nothing. McGonagall had that brooding silence Harry had seen her exert after a Quidditch loss by Gryffindor.

"The reason he had to do that, and the reason I went with him?" Harry raised his voice a little, but kept it at the same growling, rolling pitch. He had to hit everyone who could accuse him of madness hard enough to keep them from hammering back. "Because he doesn't trust the Ministry not to either kill his father or implicate him in a conspiracy, despite the fact that he's been at school the entire time. And neither did I."

"We have always strived to treat our suspects fairly," Klein began.

"Bollocks, and you know it," Harry snapped. "I lost my godfather because no one could bother to give him a proper trial. I've been tried and condemned in the press, by the _Minister himself, _more times than I can count. The Ministry reacts the same way in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat each time. Some people are tried and pardoned, guilt is glanced away from, and innocence doesn't matter."

McGonagall cleared her throat the way she had before she spoke with Madam Pomfrey. Harry thought he heard Draco's voice hissing in his ear. _Don't allow her to speak. She would slow you down, and you can't allow her to do that right now, not for anything._

"Draco has tried to act like a different person since he was here," Harry said in a low, deadly voice, glancing back and forth between the two women. "Fighting the Death Eaters. Making friends with me. And he was stalked by Fenrir Greyback, even though he was under the command of _his own father. _It says a lot that, despite everything, he still didn't trust the Ministry enough to go to them."

"We can do nothing about someone's lack of trust in us if he will make no effort to feed us the most important information," Klein said, beginning to resist his attack. She folded her arms, though, and from that, Harry took heart. "If he had told us at once about the Death Eaters-"

"He discovered it because I told him," Harry said. "And I only knew because I performed a magical ritual on the advice of the wolfwere who wanted to know where the killers of his pups were. Yet has the Ministry made an effort to find them? Would they have reported the information to him if they had? No. They consider magical creatures too far beneath them to!"

"Mr. Potter." McGonagall had a weird warning tone in her voice, as if she didn't know whether she should really be warning Harry or Klein. "You must remember that the roots of our prejudices in this case are long-"

"Prejudices against who?" Harry demanded. "Against the wolfweres, who most people don't know exist? Against Draco, who did his best to reform? Or against me, because some people in the Ministry don't trust me?"

Klein flinched. Harry nodded, following up his advantage. If he let anyone retreat here and make up the ground, then he would lose. "Yes. I've spoken with Auror Klein, and I know she thinks differently of me than she used to. But there's a whole lot of people, Aurors, who don't, and she can only do what the Ministry tells her to do. I think I have to protect Draco and the wolfwere, or no one else is going to."

"And it didn't matter to you that the Death Eaters have not harmed only Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall gave him a grave look. "That you have now scared them off, and they may be gone to some place where we cannot find them?"

Harry bit his lip and stared at her. "It mattered to me," he said. "I thought a long time about what I had to do."

"But in the end," Klein said, "that was siding with Mr. Malfoy, not us."

"Yes," Harry said. "Because _you were the ones who made it into a side. _What would you have done, Klein-"

"_Professor _Klein," McGonagall said, but Harry ignored her. Because he was Harry bloody Potter, and right now, he was the only champion Draco or the wolfwere had.

"If I had come to you and told you that Lucius Malfoy was leading the Death Eaters in the Forest of Dean, but that it might not be Lucius Malfoy? Would you have believed me? Or would you have run away and reported to Olversvald, and then gone and crashed into their camp?"

Klein frowned at him and slowly shook her head. "It is impossible to know what I may have done, since you did not give me the choice."

"I know," Harry said grimly, "what the _Daily Prophet _would have done. They would have dragged your lot over the coals for not keeping Malfoy from escaping, sure, but they also would have insisted that Draco be expelled from the school, and some parents might have backed them up. And they would have asked why I was the one who discovered the location of the Death Eater camp, and someone who saw the _real _death of Fenrir Greyback might decide to tell them about _that_. They could support me or turn against me at any time, and the Ministry can do the same. Everything's just food for a story or food for politics, and the only thing that changes is the name of the thing you feed me to. No, I think I need to make my own decisions. If I was wrong, I'll admit that and I'll take the consequences I need to from it. But I can't trust you. That's the reason I decided to support Draco."

"You could trust us," Klein said. "We have already made _bargains _with you that we have made with no other private individual. And we could have protected you from the _Prophet._"

"The way you did when Fudge claimed I was a liar and the _Prophet _said I was insane?" Harry asked quietly. "The way you did when that reporter lied his way into Remus's funeral and the Aurors who were there, following _me _around when I said I didn't want their protection, refused to arrest him, because he had the right to be there and the right to harass us?" His jaw clenched when he thought about that, about Andromeda breaking down in tears because the reporter wouldn't stop demanding what she was thinking, to have accepted a werewolf as a son-in-law. "I don't trust you, because I don't think we're on the same side. You're on the side of having as little trouble as possible. I'm on the side of living my life."

The silence stretched after that. Harry sat back, panting, and surprised to realize he was doing so. He touched his forehead with the back of one hand and found it damp. He closed his eyes.

He had done all he could-and some of the words that came out of him were strange, not ones that he thought he could have spoken. Then again, he had a lot of pent-up anger at the Ministry.

He leaned his head back on the pillow and kept his eyes shut. If Klein and McGonagall were going to have a silent conversation about how impossible he was, then they would just have to do it without him watching their facial expressions.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said at last. "Why did you risk so much for Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry opened his eyes and stared at her. "All that, and that's the question you ask?" he had to say.

A faint smile flickered through McGonagall's eyes, but her face did not change. "Answer the question, if you please, Mr. Potter."

Harry thought about it, then nodded shortly. Fine, if she wanted to, then he would. "Because no one else fights for him. Because his House and the press and most of the world seem to think he's a Death Eater traitor or he should be in Azkaban with his father-well, where his father _was_," he had to add, glaring at Klein. "But he's more than that. He's better. He's special. He just needs time and for people to see that. But he won't get the chance to have that if he's thrown into a cell. And I'm the only one with enough power to protect him who _wants _to protect him."

McGonagall gave him a long look, as if they had all the time in the world and she was responsible for judging him. Harry tensed his muscles and glared back, ready to challenge her if she said something. Well, if she said something that challenged his right to protect Draco and the wolfwere, at least. And Snape, although Harry doubted she knew about that yet.

"Will you talk to Professor Klein and explain what went on?" McGonagall asked.

Harry nodded. "And I didn't kill anyone _tonight_," he said. "In case she's worried about that."

Klein opened her mouth, but McGonagall got there first. "That's good," she said. "That's the first rebuilding of a bridge of trust between you and the Ministry."

"You're taking his side?" Klein turned her stare and open mouth on McGonagall.

"I believe him," McGonagall said. "I think that is different." She glanced at Harry, and suddenly she was his intimidating Head of House again even though she hadn't changed a muscle in her face. "And I think that you and I will have detentions to talk over in the near future, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded, dry-mouthed.

"Then start the explanation, and Professor Klein can take the information back to the Ministry," McGonagall said. "Matilda, I suggest you stay within the bounds of questions about tonight only." And she left the hospital wing.

Harry stared after her. Even though he might have detentions later, even though he had to talk to Klein-

_ Even though Draco slept through the whole thing and missed how I feel about him-_

he'd _won_.

_I'll have to start standing up for myself more often, if this happens, _he thought, and turned cheerfully to speak with Klein.


	23. Resurrection of Hope

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Three-Resurrection of Hope_

The next week was quiet, astonishingly enough. Draco seemed to be recovering from his shock, and the Slytherins still watching him didn't press the point. Each time they might have, Harry caught their eyes and smiled nastily. Then Zabini, or Nott, or Goyle, would turn in the opposite direction and pretend that they'd never found anything interesting on Harry's side of the classroom in the first place.

Of course, other things that were quiet were quiet for less hopeful reasons. The Aurors went to the Forest of Dean, as Klein told Harry in confidence before the story broke on the front page of the _Prophet_, and found the remnants of a Death Eater encampment, but no actual Death Eaters. Rumors of Lucius Malfoy being free circulated, but so did rumors of half a dozen other people, including Greyback, leading the Death Eaters, so Harry didn't pay that much attention to them.

What worried him most was that there was no confirmation from the Ministry whether or not Lucius had broken out of Azkaban.

"But I don't understand," Harry told Klein. He'd let a week pass because he'd thought it might take her some time to persuade Olversvald and anyone else at the Ministry to release the information to him, but he hadn't expected to have _nothing_. "How hard it is to look into the cell and decide that he's there or not there?"

Klein, who had bigger circles under her eyes than Harry had seen her with before, sighed and glanced away from him. "You don't understand the politics of the guards who run Azkaban in this new world," she murmured. "They lost quite a bit of prestige when You-Know-Who summoned the Dementors to his side and they couldn't prevent it. So now they cling to what secrets they have as a means of dealing with others and commanding their respect. This is a golden chance for them to pretend that they know something mysterious and keep it to themselves."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And Olversvald _allows _that?"

"Olversvald is powerful in relation to me, and you," Klein said, though she gave him a sideways look that told him she doubted the second half of her statement. "But not so in relation to the _entire power hierarchy _of the Ministry. You place too much dependence on him and his position in regards to you."

Harry gritted his teeth for a moment. "Forgive me," he said then, and he knew his voice was a little poisonous, despite his efforts to prevent it. "But I thought the Azkaban guards or whoever's handing you a load of bollocks would know the importance of accurate information to the Aurors so that they could actually track someone down who might be _murdering _people."

Klein sighed. "The Ministry is more complicated than you think, Mr. Potter. I appreciate that you have magical and social power I cannot equal, but that's reality. There's always power and corruption."

Harry snorted. "In this case, then," he said. "I thought the Aurors would know even if the general public didn't. If you can't tell me, fine. But you could assure me that you knew one way or the other, and then at least I would think you stood a chance of tracking Malfoy, or whoever it was, down."

Klein winced. "The information gives the guards power over us, and frankly, that's what they care about, other parts of the Ministry, other departments, not the public," she said. "Though perhaps it is partially in revenge for the public ignoring them except to blame them when someone escapes or showering them briefly with attention when someone important is condemned."

Harry just shrugged. He was becoming more and more sure that he didn't want to be an Auror, if he would have to listen to people who didn't care about anything but their own egos. "All right. But please tell me when you have anything to tell."

Klein nodded. Harry was sure that she would, because she seemed to respect him more than she had before. But that didn't give him anything to bring to Draco, which he had really hoped there would be.

He went to find Draco, at least, because news or no news, it always gave Harry pleasure to see him.

* * *

He found Draco on the shore of the lake, his arms folded around his knees, his gaze locked on the water in a way that said he didn't want to talk. Harry sat down beside him and cast a nonverbal spell that would check the area around them for traps or Eavesdropping Charms. There were none, and so Harry felt free to lean back and stare up at the mostly bare trees above them.

Draco moved beside him. Harry glanced at him and saw that he had turned to stare at the Whomping Willow.

"I know," Harry whispered. "But I think he has his own things to work on right now. He was concerned for us, or he never would have given us that potion, but it's best to leave him alone."

Draco folded his arms, and the icy hunch of his shoulders made Harry wish that he'd come with good news from Klein after all, to melt at least a little of the frozen wall Draco was locking himself behind.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I don't know why he's so set against helping you now that he knows the truth, except that he has his own life to deal with. Or lack of life," he had to add, remembering the leaves plastered across Snape's neck and the chalk circle he sat in. He still wasn't sure if Snape counted as _alive _at the moment, or as some kind of self-willed and powerful Inferius. "So, forget about him. We should start talking about Memory Charms again and what we're going to do to free your friends."

Draco turned to stare at him. His face was so drawn that Harry reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He would have pulled Draco into his arms, but public friendship or not, Draco probably wouldn't like that, and Harry didn't want to start rumors. Rumors that might guess right, actually, about the feelings that Harry thought he was starting to have for Draco.

"Everything feels so hopeless," Draco whispered. "We can't do anything for them, or at least all the books keep telling us that they're only going to get worse. And Snape wouldn't help me, and I know they haven't told you anything about my father or you would have told me when you came out."

Harry said nothing except to rest his hand a little more heavily. Draco closed his eyes and then opened them again. Harry thought he'd never seen anyone look more tired.

"I hate to ask this," Draco said, his voice a papery noise. "But can you please go to Snape? One more time? Just ask him when he'll be done with the Resurrection Potion and if he can make us something else when he is. Something that would solve everything."

Harry swallowed. He had the bad feeling that a potion like the one Draco wanted didn't exist, and he also knew what Snape would probably say if Harry asked him. But he'd try, nevertheless, because at the moment it seemed like it was the only thing that would cheer Draco up. "I'll try."

Draco's smile was faint, but still enough sun to melt the ice. Harry sighed and cursed himself for a fool.

* * *

"Make no noise."

Harry had taken off his Invisibility Cloak the moment he was out of the tunnel and opened his mouth to speak to Snape, but now he froze, one foot off the ground. In the end, he lowered it slowly and leaned back against the wall, trying to make no more noise than some drifting dust would have.

Snape didn't seem to notice his precautions. He leaned forwards instead, his ferocious gaze on the fire, and now and then his hands would flick and dance, tossing in seeds and bits of bark and pods that made the fire turn so many different colors it dazzled Harry's eyes. Snape said something sharp, and the fire changed to a deep black like a starless night. Harry blinked.

"Now come forwards," Snape said, and even if the invitation wasn't addressed to Harry, he found himself stepping towards the fire before he knew what was happening. Snape picked up the end of what looked like a rope and pressed it into his hand. Harry stared at it, and discovered that it was a series of leaves plaited together into a long braid. Snape held the other end and extended it over the fire.

"Now," Snape whispered. "Snap the rope out over the fire and hold it still. No matter what happens, you _must _hold it still."

Harry felt his arm trembling as he extended his hand, and grimaced. He hoped that he would be able to hold as still as the ritual, or potion, or whatever, needed him to. He'd had a stressful day and he was missing sleep, _again, _to come here and check on Snape. He would have thought his day and a half of sleep in the hospital wing would have cured his tiredness as well as his magical exhaustion, but apparently not.

Snape hissed under his breath, and muttered, and hummed. Harry listened to the muttering, but it didn't sound like it was in any language he knew. And he had to admit, he was more interested in the fire.

It leaped from color to color madly, back through black to red and then purple and then green, and then a blue that made Harry ache a little, it was such the color of a perfect summer sky. He remembered playing Quidditch with Ron above the Burrow and swallowed. His summer had been busy, but it seemed simpler now that he was in the middle of the school year and all this crazy shit was happening to him.

Snape began to swing his arm. Harry tried to hold the rope still anyway, but Snape gave him a single glance that seemed to say this was the time to disregard his instructions and start doing what Snape did. So Harry swung the rope in the same direction, and watched it become a blur as it circled above the fire, causing a slight stink of singed leaves to pour into his nose.

Harry squinted. It was hard to be sure, especially with the rope going so fast, but he thought, now, that he recognized the leaves. They were the kind that Snape had put on his neck over the wound when Harry first came into the tree.

He wondered what they were in the middle of, and then lost the thought as Snape brought his arm down decisively, right towards the fire, and Harry had to do the same thing or risk having his hand ripped off.

The leaves burned. The fire seemed to leap up and reach for them, and then it rolled around the leaves in its midst, blazing, and Harry coughed as the smell got all over him and made his eyes water. He gritted his teeth and fought down the temptation to just bugger off somewhere and leave Snape alone. He hoped this was worth it when it was all said and done, though.

Snape pulled his hand back and spent a few moments meditating, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. Then he opened his eyes and held out his hand to Harry, his palm flat and down. Harry blinked at him. If there were steps he was supposed to know in this ritual, well, Snape should have told him.

"Give me something from my former life," Snape commanded, his voice echoing weirdly off the wooden walls. "Something that you knew me by, something that will have me remember how I used to be."

Harry felt a jar travel through him. What the fuck did he have that he knew Snape by? If he had followed one of his impulses that afternoon and stolen Draco's Sltytherin tie or something, that might have been enough to remind him, but as it was, the Half-Blood Prince's book had burned, and Harry didn't have anything else that he thought might belong to Snape-

Then he had an idea, and he didn't wait for it. He just acted. He took out his wand, said _Diffindo _nonverbally in case saying it aloud would disrupt the ritual, and watched as the blood came welling out of a slender slash at the center of his palm. He leaned forwards over the fire, as much as he dared, and shook the drops into Snape's palm, grateful that most of them landed there.

Snape stared at him. Harry stared back, and said, in a tone of confidence that he hoped could fool the ritual, "You saved my life. My blood still flows in my veins because of you, because you kept me alive. So. Take it."

Then he held his breath, fearing he'd been wrong and it wouldn't work. But Snape gave him the barest of smiles and closed his fingers around the blood, already picking up another soundless chant. Then he turned and plunged his hand out as if he was going to punch something.

Instead, it went straight into the heart of the fire.

Harry opened his mouth to shout or say something or ask Snape if he was mad, but the hand held still in the heart of the fire, and Harry smelled burning skin and hair, but Snape didn't flinch. Harry held back the words. He would hate to have helped Snape with the ritual and then for everything to go wrong because of him.

Snape hissed a soundless word, and the fire turned black again. Now Harry thought he could smell ice, and frostbitten skin, if that had a smell. Snape pulled his hand back out, and there was something glowing black there, a not-bright spark that made Harry's eyes burn. He jerked his head away, but not before Snape brought his fist to his mouth and opened it.

The spark tumbled down his throat. That much, Harry did see before his eyes shut in instinctive self-defense.

The world seemed to turn gently and definitively inside out. Harry floated in a place where he couldn't put his feet down and his lungs were filled with something huge and soft that made him feel as if he were trying to breathe feathers. He choked and coughed, and someone was choking and coughing beside him, away, in another world. He flung his hands out, and touched nothing. He wondered if he would tumble through this strange dimension for life. It certainly seemed likely that he would.

But then the world solidified under his feet again, and Harry bowed his head and took a long, grateful breath. He caught a faint whiff of smoke and ice, and then nothing. He blinked and lifted his head, looking around.

The fire was gone, leaving a scorched hole where it had been. Metal slag glimmered next to it; it might be the remains of a melted cauldron. Harry stared down at his hand, which didn't hurt, and found the cut healed. He shook his head, no nearer understanding what had happened than ever.

"Potter."

Harry flung himself to his feet and turned around again. Snape stood where he had sat when he ate the spark, watching him. His fingers rested on his wand as though he intended to cast a Memory Charm. Harry braced himself to resist if he tried. This was too important to Draco, and he thought Snape owed him something for helping with the ritual. What would have happened if Harry hadn't come along just then?

"You have helped me with the Resurrection Potion." Snape nodded at him and touched his throat. Harry could see long red lines under his fingers, as though Nagini had scraped her fangs there and done no other damage. "If you had not come in when you did, it would have been much more difficult. I-thank you." Snape looked as if it was harder to say those words than it had been to brew the potion.

"How did you get that far without someone to help?" Harry asked. He swallowed a few times, and the obstruction that seemed stuck in his throat finally cleared. "And why didn't you contact me the way you did before, if you needed help?"

"I could not have sent an owl without unduly disrupting the potion." Snape cocked his head to the side. He might have been in front of a mirror and experimenting with ways to hide the scars. "And I knew that you would show up eventually."

Harry stared at him, then shut his eyes and shook his head. He didn't want to listen to Snape's self-justifying blather about why that was true. "Fine. Then can I ask a favor of you?"

Snape went still, staring at him. "If you ask for yourself, then I shall grant the favor," he said. "Not for Mr. Malfoy."

Harry growled and slammed his fist into the wall beside him. That accomplished nothing, really, but it made him feel better and made Snape's face darken, so he'd take the trade. "Why _not_? I helped you, and I don't want anything for myself. Nothing you could help with, at least," he added, thinking about his wish for an easy solution to Draco's problem and the ability to shake information out of the Ministry and an uninterrupted night's sleep. "I want something for him."

Snape looked as though someone had pressed a lemon to his lips and wouldn't let go until he ate it. "If you...insist," he said, drawing out the words. "What would you wish me to do?"

"Tell me where we should be looking for a solution to those Memory Charms." Harry ran a hand through his hair and pushed most of it so it stood straight up. "Or how we can spy past the wards into Azkaban and ensure that Lucius Malfoy is either in his cell or not."

Snape tilted his head the other way. Harry wondered idly how he would cover up the scars. Because of course he would. At the moment, there was a small chance that someone might remember the way Severus Snape was said to have died and he could be accused of being him. He wouldn't let the chance, however small, remain out there. "I am intrigued by the challenge of the wards," Snape said. "And disinclined to repair Mr. Malfoy's own damage."

"Fine," Harry said, anxious not to start another argument. "Then does that mean you can find a way to help us see into the cells?"

"Yes. Perhaps." Snape fixed on Harry again. "I need as much information about Azkaban as you can give me."

Harry nodded. He thought Klein would probably be glad to supply him with what she knew, as long as he promised to share the information with her. That meant she would be able to get one up on the guards who enjoyed keeping the Aurors in the dark. "Fine. At the moment I know the Dementors are gone, but that's all. Oh, and that the Ministry is denying Lucius escaped."

Snape sneered. "Of course they are. The Ministry would not do something _useful._" He took a step towards the tunnel as if he wanted to use it, and Harry backed out of the way. As long as he had some way to communicate with Snape, than the git could go.

For some reason, though, Snape lingered, and a moment later said, "The Philomela's Revenge potion. You found it useful?"

"Dead useful," Harry assured him. "Thank you. Draco had a few Black artifacts that let us into the middle of their camp, and none of them saw or heard us. Well, until Draco cast the spell that was supposed to remove the glamour from his father's face and he was so shocked it didn't work that the artifacts fell to the ground."

Snape grunted. He watched Harry with care that Harry didn't understand. It wasn't as though the potion could have failed, not if Harry and Draco were still there to plague him. "And you saw nothing in the camp to indicate one way or the other that it _was _Lucius Malfoy?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Draco said that the man didn't walk like his father, and I reckon he would know-"

"Or that his hope is blinding him," Snape said sharply. "You _know _that you cannot trust Mr. Malfoy to tell the truth on this one, not when he may not know what to look for."

Harry shrugged in agreement. He was grateful that both Snape and Draco had that thing where, when you said nothing, they thought you agreed with them. "There weren't any other clues I could see. The other Death Eaters seemed to defer to him and be glad when he noticed them. Oh, and Parkinson was there. Cutting her hands on some sort of musical instrument."

Snape leaned towards Harry, and Harry was sure he had unconsciously struck whatever had made Snape linger in the first place. "Describe it," he said.

"Well, she wasn't the only one," Harry said, trying to remember details he hadn't noticed much at the time, caught up in Draco's search for his father. "But it looked like a silver harp, and she was cutting herself slowly, spreading the blood down a little bit at a time. I don't know much else, because shortly after that, Draco started trying the spell, and was shattered when it failed."

"He owes his survival to you?" Snape gave him a nasty little smile.

Harry shrugged. This time, he let the silence stretch out, so Snape could interpret it whatever way he wanted.

"The combination of blood and silver was magic the Dark Lord was working on shortly before he died, to increase his power," Snape said abruptly. "Smearing blood over a musical instrument and then playing it at certain rituals is also effective. That Lucius is taking this up concerns me. And it does point, reluctant as I am to grant Mr. Malfoy's wild beliefs credence, to it not being Lucius. Only someone in the Dark Lord's inner circle would have known of his experiments, and at the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, Lucius was not so trusted."

Harry smiled. "Thank you. That'll be something I can take back to Draco and tell him that's solid. He'll appreciate it."

"In the meantime," Snape said, after another frozen moment when he stared at Harry as if trying to make his actions fit into one template that Harry was determined not to be forced into, "I will work on a potion that will allow you to look past the wards of Azkaban. I will contact you, however, and expect you to find a way to my laboratory, wherever I establish it."

Harry concealed a groan as he thought of more lost sleep and nodded. "Fine. Can I bring Draco with me?"

Snape nodded, and then vanished down the tunnel. Harry gave him a good head start of thirty seconds, and sure enough, when he followed him, saw nothing all the way down the tunnel or when he emerged from it, either.

Harry drew the Cloak over his head and hurried towards the castle. It might not be exactly the help Draco had asked for, but things were looking up.


	24. Banging the Drum

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Four-Banging the Drum_

"I just wanted to warn you, Potter."

Harry straightened up from his notes and rolled his eyes. "Well, this is new," he said quietly, because Klein was on the other side of the room talking to a Ravenclaw about her failed Shield Charm right then, but would turn around at any moment. "Parkinson threatened me in the Potions supply cupboard, so you have to choose a different setting." He glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows at Zabini. "That doesn't mean I'm going to stop protecting Draco, you know."

"You choose your friends strangely." Zabini braced his hands on the table in front of him and gave Harry the kind of smile that someone else might consider friendly if they saw it. But there was no one else there to see it; Klein had partnered Draco with the Ravenclaw this morning, and Ron and Hermione were too involved in intense but covert discussion of a Memory Charm that Hermione thought might rescue her parents. "You deserve the chance to change your mind. That's all."

"Well, that courteous of you." Harry let his wand spin through his fingers. "Then you deserve the same kind of warning, I reckon. If you try to hurt Draco again, you're going to suffer for the rest of your life."

Zabini sneered at him. "You'd be expelled if you used that kind of curse on me or anyone else, and you know it."

"Really?" Harry let one eyebrow rise. "You think so, after Parkinson attacked me and so much of the rest of the wizarding world distrusts you lot anyway? And who said that the curse I used would leave physical marks?"

Zabini's eyes widened and he fell back a step, before he seemed to remember that he was there to do the threatening, not suffer from it. He struck a pose that Harry would have found more impressive if he wasn't such a twit. "It's coming to the end. It has to. We may not agree on what Draco did, but we know he did _something_."

Harry let his sneer fade and folded his arms. He hated what Zabini was doing right now, and of course he had no intention of backing off and leaving Draco to the tender mercies of his House, but Zabini might have information they needed on the Slytherins' mental states. Especially since he was the one Draco had tortured in the first place. "Fine. If you have no idea what he did, how do you know that you're punishing him appropriately?"

Zabini stared at him, searching his face as if he wanted clues to Harry's sudden change of attitude. Harry raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Zabini would tell him or not; Harry thought he had done the best he could in the limited amount of time they had.

Zabini cast a glance over his shoulder towards Klein, who was now berating Draco for using stronger spells to crack the Ravenclaw's Shield Charm than he should have used. Draco stood there and took it without a flinch or a change of expression. Harry had to make sure to control his face before Zabini turned back towards him.

"Fine," Zabini hissed. "Because I don't think even _you_ could stand by him if you knew the truth of what he'd done, you might as well know that we're going to use Veritaserum on him. That'll force him to admit what spell he used to make us all think of different versions of that night. You're welcome to come along and listen if you want."

Harry gave him a false smile, while his heartbeat quickened. Parts of the Memory Charm were breaking, and others were strengthening, it seemed, including their antipathy to Draco. And if the Slytherins heard the truth and that slammed into the false memories, the books they had studied indicated that it could be a dangerous situation for everyone involved.

Physically and mentally.

"Thanks for telling me, then," Harry said, and inclined his head. "Fine. When were you planning to do this?"

Zabini braced his hands on the table in front of him again. They were shaking. At some level, Harry thought, he knew or suspected what he would find out if he fed Draco Veritaserum.

"It's not that simple," Zabini said suddenly. "You think I would _tell _you? That I would give you a date and time, when you would just go to McGonagall and tell her all about it?"

"You told me this much," Harry said, and leaned back in his chair as Klein started to turn around. "Why would you do that, if you didn't want my help at some level? Or for me to intervene? You want to remove me because you think of me as Draco's strongest protection." He wished he could speak the words and not think they were the truth, but it _was _true that not many other people seemed to have an interest in helping Draco right now. "How can you remove me if you don't trust me, to some extent?"

Zabini stared at him, the muscles in his face working. Then he shook his head and stalked away. Harry took a slow, deep breath and tried to relax his own muscles, the ones in his back mostly, as he watched Draco watching him.

Draco raised one eyebrow in response, and Harry gave a slight nod. Draco shut his eyes and his lips moved for a moment.

Harry hadn't yet had a chance to tell him about Snape's speculations or offer to help on the matter of Lucius. He hoped he would later today, when they got some privacy. There was no chance that he would say that in public where someone could overhear it, but he desperately wanted to cheer Draco up.

* * *

"Well, that's something, anyway."

Harry leaned back on the chair that the Room of Requirement had conjured for him and watched Draco's back in concern. The news that they might learn whether his father was in Azkaban or not hadn't cheered Draco up as much as Harry had thought it would. Maybe the news about Zabini and how close the Slytherins were to doing something final about their memory loss outweighed it.

Draco paced back and forth, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back. The Room of Requirement this time looked like a huge, open dungeon, down to windows filled with water that sometimes showed one of the Squid's flailing arms. Harry looked out of them and tried to control his impulse to get up and offer help. He had done all he could for right now.

"I wish I didn't have to depend on _you_."

Harry snapped his head up. Draco had turned around to face him and braced his feet, as though he was going to attack. Harry kept his hands at his sides and open, because reaching for his wand would probably bring the confrontation on.

Not that he knew why they were having a confrontation. But if they needed to so Draco could explode some of the tension brewing in his chest, then Harry would do it.

It was kind of frightening, thinking about it, how little he _wouldn't _do for Draco.

"I wish that someone else had rescued me, so I wouldn't owe you so many life-debts," Draco began, and then shook his head violently enough that Harry heard something pop in his neck. "No, that's not true. I wish I had rescued _myself_. I was the one who had the idea that let us get into the Forest unseen. I should have kept awake and aware after I realized the spell wasn't working to reveal my father's face."

Harry just watched him. Nodding or disagreeing right now would probably make things worse.

"You don't understand, do you?" Draco demanded, and took a step closer. "You don't _care_, because you have the ability to do so much, and you've saved so many people, that the life-debts I owe you probably don't even occur to you. You saved me from the Fiendfyre, and when they abandoned me by the tree, and in the Forest of Dean. But you don't _care_. You don't _think_ about it."

"I care," Harry said, and stood up, forgetting a little about sitting down and just letting Draco yell if that was what he needed. Well, he would hold back if he had to, but he didn't think that the kinds of words Draco was hurling at him could go unanswered. "I don't mention it all the time, because I thought you didn't want me to. And I was _right_, if you don't like the way I was saving you-"

"I want you to think more about it!" Draco snapped, taking a step towards him. He had more color in his cheeks than he'd had for days. Harry cheered silently, and then despised himself equally silently for cheering. And for noticing in the first place. "I want you to show that-I don't know, that it's not all a normal day's work for you, rescuing someone in the morning and helping resurrect a Potions professor you used to hate at night!"

Harry sighed. "But it _is_, for me."

"Then don't act that way!"

"I should act as if it's abnormal?" Harry stared at him, and shook his head. "I want to give you what you need to survive and find out whether your father did manage to escape, but-"

"_No!"_ Draco's arms drifted around his head in circles, as if he was trying to swat flies the size of birds. "That's _it!_ You care so much about what I want! _Why_? Until last year we were enemies! Why are you trying so hard to help me when no one's forcing you and when I tortured someone?"

"I've told you that already," Harry said quietly. "Because I don't think you deserve to suffer for what happened to you, or even for what you did."

Draco bowed his head and dug his fingers into his hair, ripping so hard Harry was afraid he would tear it out. But Harry bit his lip and kept quiet. Maybe it would keep him from punching or cursing Harry, which Harry was otherwise afraid would happen in a few seconds.

"Can't you be a little less than a saint, for once?" Draco pleaded, and it really did sound like pleading, so much so that Harry blinked and shifted his weight. "Can't you-when you're rescuing me all the time, I can't rescue _myself_. When you're asking Snape for favors for me, that means I can't. If you find the key to removing the Memory Charm from my friends, then that means I can't."

Harry scowled. "I think the second one of those you mentioned is completely understandable," he snapped, "since Snape wouldn't talk to you. He even wanted to not do anything for me if it was going to be something for you, did I tell you that? And as for the other things, the minute you stop freezing in shock or giving up on anything but hiding the situation because you're so embarrassed-"

Draco looked up and smiled at him. That made Harry lose his breath, and he tried not to, he tried to look stern. He thought he'd need to, for whatever row was upcoming.

"Thank you," Draco said quietly. "_That _was what I wanted to see, some kind of anger, not just this endless patience and gentleness and understanding."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he smiled in spite of himself. "All right. So does that content you? Some things, I have to do because you can't do them. And other things, you had chances at but didn't."

Draco's smile melted like ice cream around Dudley. "If you think that you could avoid freezing when you thought that your spell would reveal a criminal wasn't really your father and it didn't," he began.

"I don't mind that," Harry said. "Truly. But you say you want to save yourself. All right. Then the next time we do something like that, _prove _you can. Otherwise, I have to keep saving your arse unless I want you to die. And I really, really don't."

Draco cocked his head to the side, frowned, and then almost visibly backed away from whatever subject he'd been about to mention. "It would help if I had any idea of what we're facing," he said.

"Right," Harry said. "But Snape should get that potion to us, so we will soon. And you know that Zabini wants to use Veritaserum on you. Use that knowledge to your advantage."

"How can I?" Draco stared at him.

Harry folded his arms and gave him a pointed stare back.

For a moment, Draco blinked. Then he laughed, and the sound loosened and eased something in Harry's chest that even seeing Snape fully resurrected hadn't. He made a small, private vow never to admit that to Ron. He didn't want to listen to the gagging noises or have to revive Ron from a fit of laughter.

"Right. If I want to solve my own problems, I need to figure that out." Draco sat down in the comfortable chair the Room had conjured for him and took a deep breath. "Plan. Plot. Think like a Slytherin."

"If you like," Harry said mildly, while privately running down the list of failed Slytherin plans he knew about and deciding not to say anything. He sat down himself and waited. If Draco wanted him to answer questions or discuss plans, then he could, but he was determined not to say anything until then.

Draco put one hand beneath his chin and gazed into the fire that the Room also provided, his brow wrinkled with his seriousness. Harry took the chance to study his profile, and found his breath taken away again. It was such a little, stupid thing, but he liked the way Draco's hair looked. The way it was loose and shapeless at the moment, the way it randomly touched some places on his jawline and his cheek and his ear, and the way that Draco moved a few strands out of the way with an impatient hand when he leaned forwards to stir the fire and they obscured his vision.

_I don't think this comes from rescuing him, at least. Or else I would feel the same way about Snape and the wolfwere._

Harry successfully muffled his snort at the thought of Snape's horror, and waited. Draco went on staring, and Harry thought productive things were happening behind his eyes; he didn't want to interrupt.

"All right," Draco said at last, and his voice was quiet and distant. "I don't think they'll risk stealing from Slughorn again, not when you've already made him think that happened once." He gave Harry the edge of an equally distant smile, and Harry returned it with more interest than it warranted. Draco didn't seem to notice, though; the fire was drawing his eyes. "That means they need to get it from somewhere, and that means we could track owl orders and perhaps stop it that way."

"Unless they have it already, or they get it through the Floo instead," Harry said. "Or someone flies it in on a broom, or meets them in the Forbidden Forest, or-"

Draco gave a harsh laugh that reminded Harry of the wolfwere for a moment. "You do fail at being comforting sometimes, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Only trying to prove that your brilliant plan isn't really all that brilliant."

"I was quite aware of that, thank you. And someone would probably notice the spells that I could put up to track and stop the owls here, the way they wouldn't with a private spell at the Manor." Draco waved a hand. "Fine. We have to do something else, then. Is there any likely site you can think of for an attack?"

"We probably want to set something up and lure them in, or else they'll just choose one, and there's no way that we can anticipate everything they might come up with," Harry said, checking with Draco with little sideways glances as he spoke. Draco seemed inclined to listen right now, though, and only watched him. Harry fixed his eyes on the fire. He thought he could see the attraction it might have for Draco at the moment. "What about somewhere near the dungeons? Do you know-"

"Their own knowledge would more than make up for it," Draco interrupted. "I think that somewhere outside would be better. We would have more room to maneuver and more room to escape if something went wrong."

Harry nodded. "Any suggestions?"

Draco opened his mouth, met Harry's eyes, and looked away for a moment, his head tilted. "I think," he said quietly, "that though it would give me great pleasure to do it near the Whomping Willow, it's not a good idea. There's not enough cover there, not when one can either freeze the tree or dodge it, and nowhere to escape unless we bring brooms, which we'd have to hide or carry around with us. Where do you think is a good place?"

"Near Hagrid's cottage," Harry said, after a moment of thinking about it. "There's plenty of places to hide near there, and we can use glamours to disguise any noise we make as animal noises from Hagrid's pets. And Hagrid isn't there half the time, now, with the way he visits Beauxbatons. That means we aren't likely to bring him out and get him involved in the fight, and we can use the house for shelter."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What reason could we give them for my going there?" he asked.

Again, Harry had the impression that that wasn't what he had originally meant to say, but he let it go. "Because you want to do something to hurt someone who you still feel is lower on the scale than you are," he said. "And Hagrid has always been someone you despised for who he is, and _he _isn't your friend."

Draco opened his mouth, then shut it. "That's-rather brutal," he said at last, faintly.

"Sorry," Harry said. And he was, when he thought about it. Draco had changed at least a little, and for all Harry knew, he'd changed his feelings on Hagrid, too. "But it is a reason that the other Slytherins will accept, I think. Since at the moment they believe you're the worst person on the planet."

Draco ran a hand over his hair and stared at his palm when he was done, as if he'd wiped off grease. "You don't mind using that as a reason?" he asked softly.

Harry shook his head. "It'll give me something to go to Zabini and the others about, and pretend that I'm indignant about. I can say that you never really changed at all and I just _thought _you did. They know how protective I am of my friends. I think they'll buy that story a lot more easily than some of the other ones I could make up."

Draco stared at him again, and this time, the stare _burned._ Harry shifted and sat up straight under it, though, because this time, as far as he knew, he hadn't done anything wrong. Unless Draco was going to say that Zabini and the others would question him more than that, and Harry was stupid for thinking they wouldn't.

Then Draco said, "Why aren't you in Slytherin? With a mind that can plot like that."

"Because I wanted to be with Ron more instead, and I knew that the wizard who killed my parents had been in that House, and I didn't want to be in the same place as you," Harry said, giving all the honest answer. Then he remembered, and added, "And Slytherins aren't the only ones who can make convincing plans, you know."

Draco seemed to have trouble with his tongue. "It's a bit _colder _than I would have expected from you," he said at last.

Harry nodded. "I know," he said. "I don't know if I would have done something like that last year. But it's not last year, and it took this summer to make me see that." He scratched at the back of his head as he thought. He still didn't really know how to explain the summer to Draco, but he could keep repeating that it had changed him, and hope that would be enough. Besides, unless they became better friends than they were now, Draco was unlikely to care about his summer in that much detail.

_Or something more than friends. _

Harry imagined his unhelpful thoughts locked in Dudley's second bedroom, and added, "I know that I can do things now that-I don't always have to-I don't always have to _worry _so much, you know? I can help who I want to help. That's the only reason I'm helping you instead of feeling like I have to be your enemy. And I don't have to worry that there's something wrong with me because I came up with a plan that uses your dislike of Hagrid. I know that I'm a better person in other ways."

Draco's face shut down. There was an odd sensation of a locked door behind his eyes as he turned his head away. "Right," he said. "I understand."

_What in the world? _Harry wondered, but before he could open his mouth and ask, Draco had gone on, outlining a plan that Harry thought would work. He had to correct Draco a few times about the surroundings of Hagrid's hut and the layout inside. It made sense that Draco wouldn't know that, since he'd really never been inside.

They worked together well enough on that, but Draco stood up with his face still averted, and Harry didn't want to let him go in the same cold mood he'd arrived in. He reached out and caught his arm. Draco half-turned his head, his neck stiff and even the back of his head screaming his reluctance to stay.

"Can you tell me what I did wrong?" Harry asked. He made himself speak gently and not snap. "Sometimes I say something, and I know it hurts you, but I don't know _why_."

Draco stared at him, then took a step forwards that brought them so close Harry's eyes crossed and his heart fluttered.

"Because you're being a bloody saint again," Draco snapped. "Stop _acting _like that. Admit that you're an arsehole sometimes. Act like one. Fight with me!"

"Fighting with you and helping you are sort of mutually exclusive," Harry snapped back. "And what kind of saint slaughters people? That's what I did, twice. And I just admitted that I could be an arsehole! This plan is like that. What in the world do you want me to do?" He let Draco's wrist go.

"Act like you want to sometimes, not just the way I need you to!" Draco leaned in, and his hair scraped down Harry's ears in turn. "That's what I _want. _Want, not need."

And he spun away and marched out of the room as though someone had turned a key in his back.

Harry sat down slowly on the chair, and stared at the fire again.


	25. A Mangled Ambush

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Five—A Mangled Ambush_

"If you knew something, Potter, you would tell me?"

It was hard enough to remain absolutely motionless when_ Klein _looked at him with piercing eyes, but it was much harder with McGonagall. But Harry forced himself to meet her eyes and simply nod. "Of course, Headmistress. You _know _that I don't have any reason to want Lucius Malfoy to escape punishment for his crimes. Or Draco to be punished for his father's crimes, either," he had to add, because some of the ways McGonagall watched Draco lately made her suspect she was thinking about that.

McGonagall watched him, and Harry watched her back. Her eyes could scrape and pierce, and Harry wasn't immune to them. But he was a lot more interested in protecting Draco than he was in soothing her temper, which made him stand there and return her gaze evenly enough until McGonagall sighed and waved him out of her office.

"When your plan goes wrong, as it will, I hope you will think of me and turn to me," she said behind him as the door closed.

On the moving staircase going down, Harry took a deep breath and shook his head. He wasn't much good at cunning plans, really, not if McGonagall could sense in an instant when he was making one, but then, neither was Draco. He still wasn't sure which of them had given away to her that there was something going on. But of course there was. There was the ambush on the Slytherins to plan, and the contact with Snape to establish, and the wolfwere to sneak out and see tonight.

"Potter."

Zabini was waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase, by the gargoyle, leaning against the wall with a nonchalant air that he really should work on if he didn't want someone to think he was up to no good. He straightened up when he saw Harry and nodded to him.

"Someone might think that you'd gone up to her to report on what I told you," he said. "Someone less trusting than I am, I mean."

"Someone stupid might think that," Harry agreed, with a little nod, and then champed his teeth shut as he smiled at Zabini. "Now. Why did you want to meet with me?"

Zabini tossed a glance up and down the corridor, then nodded significantly towards the gargoyle. "Care to go somewhere else? This is a bit public."

"You were the one who chose to wait for me here," Harry said, but he followed Zabini around the corner obediently enough. When they were out of sight from the main corridor, Zabini whirled around and faced him. Harry stood silent, his arms folded, and waited. Zabini had a touch of high and hectic color around his ears and neck, and he was breathing as though he'd taken a Pepper-Up Potion. Harry might find out the truth if he just stayed silent long enough for him to speak.

"You asked when we were going to use Veritaserum on Draco," Zabini began abruptly. "We still aren't going to tell you that, but we are going to bring him to you when we're done giving it to him, so that you can see the effects of his lies, and hear them, for yourself."

Harry raised his eyebrows and half-inclined his head. "All right. But how are you going to corner him? After dinner? That's a bit public, too, but it would seem to fit your style."

Zabini scowled, and Harry hid a grin. At least Zabini didn't believe that Harry was trying to get on his good side, then. "Never mind that. We'll corner him and bring him to the Gryffindor Tower. We have the password," he added, as Harry opened his mouth to object. "Not _everyone _despises us as much as you seem to."

"Hmmm," Harry said. "And how would you feel if you knew that I had a reason of my own now to despise Malfoy, right along with the rest of you?"

Zabini gave Harry the cautious look that Harry had sometimes seen Aunt Petunia use when she wasn't sure that Harry had cooked the dinner to Uncle Vernon's satisfaction. "I wouldn't believe you," he said after a moment. "I saw you with him this morning, and you were just as close as ever."

"That was before he made the mistake of thinking that, just because he was my friend, I would abandon my older ones," Harry said, and stared grimly at the wall. If he had to meet Zabini's eyes, then he might reveal the lie for what it was. "I don't—I don't _understand _him at all. What kind of idiot would do that? Well, this kind of idiot, I reckon."

"What did he say?" Zabini pressed in close, and his body seemed to vibrate like a scorpion's tail. Harry thought it was almost pathological, how eager he was to hear bad things about Draco.

Harry sighed and buried his head in his hands for a moment. Then he said, "He said—that he despised Hagrid, still, and he wanted to try and hurt someone lower than him in the status quo. He was going over to the hut, tonight, to cast some spells that would make the house unsafe for Hagrid for a long time, and maybe hurt the animals. I don't know. I didn't listen to every detail, because I was so sick."

"Yes, that's the kind of person he is," Zabini said, but he was pressing all the closer, and for some reason, the only thing Harry could think of was what Draco would think if he came around the corner and saw them both in this position. He pulled back despite himself. Zabini gave him a long look and ended up retreating, folding his arms defensively as he went. "Fine. What do you think we should do, then?"

"Catch him before he booby-traps Hagrid's house, of course!" Harry snapped, and hoped he was successful in making it look as if that was what he really wanted to do. "I'm going there tonight. I don't care what you do."

"Did he tell you what time he was going?" Forget scorpions, Zabini's smile would have done a shark proud.

"Yeah," Harry said, and looked away, running a hand through his hair for a moment. "He—he didn't _care. _He thought I shouldn't care about anything but him. I never realized he was so bloody selfish."

"That sounds like him," Zabini said, and his teeth were bright with rage, and he actually leaned in long enough to put his hand on Harry's arm. Harry recoiled almost in spite of himself. Zabini dropped his hand, but not the smile. "He's fucking selfish like that, all the time. Don't worry. You'll see how much tonight."

He vanished in the direction of the dungeons, and left Harry to count his breaths and wonder whether it would work.

"You're a convincing liar when you want to be."

Draco's voice, utterly neutral. Harry stiffened a little—he hadn't sensed Draco there and hadn't realized that he would witness the confrontation—but he nodded and moved forwards a few steps. "I can be," he said, and then kept walking, because Merlin knew what would happen if Zabini popped back for a moment and discovered the two of them talking together like allies.

Draco came up to walk beside him. Harry sneaked a glance at him from the corner of his eye, watching that corona of blond hair waver back and forth. _But no, that's not quite what we are, is it? Draco has no idea that I like him, or at least he's determined not to act on it if he does, and I—I don't know what to do next, other than try and make sure the Slytherins don't hurt him. And find out if his father has escaped Azkaban. And try to balance being what he needs and what he wants._

Well, when he thought about it like that, he _did _have a good idea what he should be doing, after all, Harry had to admit.

"What are you thinking about, Potter?"

They had reached the main corridor outside the Headmistress's office again. Harry glanced over and found Draco had moved a step nearer, staring at him as though he assumed that Harry's thoughts were the most important things he would ever hear. Harry swallowed roughly. Man, he had it _bad_, and the only reason other people probably hadn't noticed it yet was that they were too caught up in their own problems, or hated Draco and would never think that he was the object of the Chosen One's infatuation.

"Mostly that I have a lot of things to do," he said lightly, and stepped back from Draco, raising an invisible wall because it was the only way he could think of that might let both of them escape with some dignity intact. "And you should go to Hagrid's hut and have a look around, to make the story credible."

"That's not what you were thinking about," Draco said, and moved a step nearer. "I can tell because of the color your eyes turn when you're looking at me, you see."

Harry blinked. It was news to him that his eyes ever changed color. He tried to shrug it off, and stood further back. "Fine. But I still think that it would be a good idea if you were familiar with the ground around Hagrid's hut."

"I'll go in a minute. Sooner, if you don't tell me what you're thinking."

Harry swallowed again. Yeah, Draco must have some idea, or he wouldn't have threatened to leave Harry alone, a far more effective punishment than staying and continuing to annoy him. Harry touched the back of his hand to his forehead and felt sweat coat it. He gathered up his courage, while Draco stood there with his eyes fixed on Harry's face.

It was that which made Harry speak. He didn't want someone else to come by and see Draco like that, not if it was someone they had to fool. And the look made him feel, ultimately, like he owed Draco the truth.

"Fine," he said at last. "I was thinking that I hope you stay safe, and that the way your hair falls around your ears is really very—very _very_, and that I would give a lot to make sure that you always stayed safe from the Slytherins."

Draco raised his eyebrows, as if he had anticipated different words, and nodded. "That'll do, for now," he said, and turned away in a direction that might have led him to Hagrid's hut, if he went there by a roundabout route.

Harry blinked at his back, and then shook his head. No, he didn't quite understand what that had been all about, and he might well be reading more into it than he should.

But he couldn't help grinning anyway as he walked back towards the Gryffindor Tower. At least that might indicate that Draco had some idea of what was going on, and didn't _entirely _disapprove of Harry's crush on him.

* * *

Watching people's behavior now that he had some idea of what he was looking for, it didn't take Harry long to spot who had a crush on a Slytherin and might be willing to give one of them the password to the Tower. Parvati had gone far too silent lately. Harry knew that some of that came from the war, but she had been chattering with Lavender a lot the past few weeks. Now she spent most of her time staring dreamily into the fire or writing in a small book that she shut hastily whenever anyone came near her.

Harry sat down beside her that evening after dinner, and she shut her book like always and glanced at him with a faint, sour smile. "Harry," she said. "Shouldn't you be spending time with Ron and Hermione or something?"

"They're involved in a discussion of their own right now," Harry said, which was true. Ron was trying to persuade Hermione not to go to Australia this weekend, and by the grim set to Hermione's mouth, Harry knew it wouldn't be long before it escalated to shouting. "Besides, I want to talk to other people sometimes. Like you."

Parvati folded her arms over the book and gave him an uncertain glance. Harry knew what she was thinking. He hadn't dated anyone since Ginny, and she might be wondering if he'd come over here with that intention.

"For example," Harry said, keeping a faint smile on his face as he nodded at her, "there's the question about what I might do if I found out that someone was giving out Gryffindor passwords to someone who's trying to harm my friends."

Parvati dropped her book on the floor. Luckily, most of the other people in the common room were focusing on Ron and Hermione's building fight and not on her. "What are you doing?" she whispered, retrieving it and staring up at him. "I promise that Bl—I mean, the Slytherin I like—I mean, the Slytherin I'm _friends _with isn't going to do anything to Ron and Hermione. It's just that sometimes we need a private place to meet, that's all."

"Private places," Harry echoed. "I like the sound of that. And I think you could do _even better _if your private places were really private, not in the middle of a Tower where anyone could come in. Don't you think that's worth aiming for?"

By now, Parvati's cheeks were bright with confusion, but she could only shake her head. "I don't know what you mean," she said. "I've had enough of this conversation, too. I'm leaving." She stood up and secured her book by her side.

Harry reached out and caught her wrist. To most people from the side, it would only look like he was adjusting her book or helping her with her cloak. Parvati was the one who saw his eyes, and who stared at him with her mouth slightly open.

"I'm talking about Draco," Harry said quietly. Then he paused, and let a sigh roll out of his mouth. "Fine, _Malfoy_. I reckon I have to call him that, after what he said to me today." The last thing he needed was Parvati reporting to Blaise that Harry and Draco still thought of themselves as friends after all. "But Zabini might hurt him, and I don't want that to happen unless they can prove that he's doing something wrong. And you giving him the password to the Tower could result in someone being hurt."

"You're wrong about Blaise, at least," Parvati said, relaxing a little. Harry was horribly afraid that the relaxation had to do with her thinking Draco wasn't important, but he didn't have any proof of that, so he kept quiet. "He isn't interested in hurting anyone here. He just wants to come and talk to me. He's a lovely person, Harry, really, you'd be a lot better off if you could put aside your grudges against the Slytherins and learn what good people they are—"

Harry flapped a hand at her, and Parvati shut up with something that almost looked like lack of ability to do anything else. Harry hoped that it wasn't. He didn't want to go around terrifying people in his own House, either. Among other things, it would lead to more attention than he wanted.

"Just think about it," he said, standing up and studying her for a moment. "What happens if it turns out that he does hurt someone, or that someone else comes up and finds him here?"

"The password is going to change in a few weeks, anyway," Parvati said, and then frowned at him. "You won't tell anyone, will you, Harry? Only it's going so _well_, and I think that he's really changed, but some of the others won't understand—"

"I won't tell your secret," Harry promised, rolling his eyes, "but you need to think about how well you're keeping it. Someone will notice eventually. Maybe Seamus. Sometimes I think he's jealous of anyone you'd try to date."

Parvati paused and looked towards Seamus. "You really think so?" she whispered. "You really think that he might want to date me?"

Harry smiled. It was true that he had only seen Seamus looking longingly in Parvati's direction a few times, but that was more times than he'd ever seen Zabini looking at her. And the way Zabini talked about his password acquisition, it really didn't seem that he cared a lot about Parvati. "Maybe," he said. "Why don't you ask him?"

Parvati bit her lip, then shook her head. "I still think you're wrong about Blaise," she said, in a low voice. "You just won't admit it."

"If something happens inside the Tower because you gave the password to him," Harry said, and lowered his voice in return, because he would be ruined, too, in a different way, if anyone heard what they were talking about, "then believe me I'm going to know, and I won't be _happy _about it."

Parvati's face turned pale, and she backed away from Harry without taking her eyes off him. Then she whirled and ran in the opposite direction.

Harry sighed and let his muscles crack and creak in his arms as he stretched. He didn't enjoy scaring people, any more than he enjoyed lying to people, but he would do so much more than that to protect Draco that it was sort of silly to flinch from them.

_Is there anything I wouldn't do for him, I wonder? _

He didn't know, but now that he thought about it, it might be worthwhile to find out.

* * *

The owl that came to his Tower window in the middle of the night was pale and glided in like the ghost of Hedwig, so Harry flinched before he could stop himself. But the owl landed on his bed and held out a leg as silent as his wings. Harry took the note and read the short warning he and Draco had agreed on if it seemed that the Slytherins were going to take their bait.

_Too much bustle tonight, not enough looking at me. I'm there._

Harry reached out and grasped the broom he'd brought up and put beside his bed earlier. Ron had joked that it should make him dream of new Quidditch plays, and Harry had smiled back and winced a little at the same time, thinking of how shamefully he'd neglected the team. Of course, he had never actually said that he would be on it this year, but everyone seemed to assume he would come roaring back in time for the first game.

Against Slytherin.

Harry shook his head and draped his Invisibility Cloak over himself as he vaulted onto the broom and opened the window. _I'm spending a lot of time around them, all the time. I wonder how long a House I rejected is going to define my life?_

He soared out into the chill air, and made sure to shut the window behind him. He had left a few charms on his bed that should hold the curtains closed and produce a sound that would seem like a rattling snore to most people. Of course, he intended to be back long before morning and before anyone else could possibly be concerned about him and try to wake him up.

_But you still aren't getting any bloody sleep._

Harry frowned and tightened his grip on the broom as it bucked against the wind. Yes, well, that was just too fucking bad, wasn't it? He would have to do the job in front of him before he could worry about going to sleep.

_And is that all Draco is to you? Just a job?_

Harry rolled his eyes and glided towards Hagrid's hut. The last thing he needed to do was to start arguing with himself in his head, when everyone around him did such a splendid job of it.

He hovered over the hut for a moment, and relaxed when his charms to detect Disillusionment spells didn't reveal anyone hiding nearby. Draco's hair shone briefly from behind the hut, but Harry was sure that he'd only showed that in the first place to attract Harry to him. Harry braced his legs around the broom and plunged downwards, soundlessly, pulling up when he was a few feet above the garden.

Draco nodded to him and then refocused on the spell he was casting. Harry eyed the lines carved into the dirt and noted the way they all seemed to lead inwards, as though spiraling around something invisible. When he looked back at Draco, his face was calm and peaceful, but with a slightly mad smile. Harry decided that he wouldn't ask unless he had to. After the state of affairs that had resulted in the Memory Charm, Harry thought Draco probably wouldn't deliberately try to hurt his friends, and wouldn't do it in other ways, either, unless it was in defense of his own life.

"Zabini will take the bait?" Draco was pouring something pale green and glittering from a vial into the lines on the ground now. Harry watched it flow and hiss, and swallowed. Things were coming to the point when he was pretty sure that he was going to have to ask Draco what that potion was, or at least what the potion and ritual combined were.

"He seemed confident enough in my story," Harry said, shrugging off the Cloak and making sure that he'd stored it comfortably in his robe pocket. "And I know that he thinks I don't know his secret way into Gryffindor Tower, so he's going to be overconfident."

"You know it?" Draco glanced up at him, but returned his attention at once to the potion. _Lucky potion, _Harry thought before he could stop himself.

"Yes," Harry said. "Parvati's been mooning over someone for ages, and guarding her diary like it's made of dragon gold. Combine that with what Zabini said about having someone on the inside, and it has to be her."

Draco paused for a moment, and then he shook the last drops of potion into the grooves and stood up. "Would you do that for me, Harry?" he asked quietly, his breath touching Harry's lips. "Would you give me the password?"

Harry grimaced a little. Well, he had wanted to find out what he would do and what he wouldn't for Draco, and this was…on the former list. "Yeah," he admitted. "I would expect you not to misuse it, though, because that would just make it obvious where it came from and limit my ability to do anything else for you."

Draco stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. "Oh, Harry," he said. "You _do _understand me, better than a lot of the people around here who think they do." He patted Harry on the arm and then turned and studied the lines carved into the ground once more. When he intoned a word that rang like an iron bell, they began to blaze. Harry studied the light. He didn't like it. It was the color of the Killing Curse.

"What's that ritual do, Draco?" he asked casually.

Draco smiled at him, his face bright and fey in the blazing light of the lines on the ground. "Like it? This is the ritual that's going to bring my friends' memories back."


	26. A Cure for Mischief

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Six—A Cure for Mischief_

The best course, Harry decided while the world was still reeling around inside his head, was to pretend that he couldn't possibly have heard what he _thought _he had heard.

"What?" he hissed, shooting a hand out to grip Draco's arm. "What the fuck—what the _fuck _do you think you're doing?"

Draco only looked at him with raised eyebrows, his face pale in the light of the flickering green shadows dancing up from the potion. Then he nodded to Harry's hand, and put his own hand over it, gently prying it from his elbow.

"You know as well as I do that we have to go fast, that we don't have much time before the Memory Charm drives them insane or makes them hate me for the rest of their lives," he said, and his voice was sweet and level and low. But even with the distraction of Draco's fingers covering his, Harry noticed how much his hand shook. "You said that we should spend more time studying the books and figure something out. Well. This is what I figured out."

_Draco, you mad—_But Harry cut himself off, because ranting at Draco would probably just convince him further that he was right. Draco was _like _that sometimes.

"Fine," Harry said, and let his breath hiss past his teeth, not bothering to disguise his exasperation. "How is it going to save them?"

Draco took a step away and stared at him. Harry stared back, impatient. He thought Zabini and the other Slytherins would probably be along any second, and unless Draco explained what he intended to happen before then, Harry couldn't in good conscience let him use the potion.

Draco took a long, deep breath, and shook his head, as though he was surprised Harry hadn't already seized his arm and wrenched his wand away. "All right," he said, kneeling down. "You know that part of the reason this is as fucked-up as it is is that my own desires interfered with the process and I couldn't make up my mind what I wanted, right?"

Harry nodded, and folded his arms over his knee as he dropped beside Draco to study the lines of the spiral. They made him faintly sick, and not because of the glowing green color that filled them (well, not _only _because of that). There was something about the way they turned and raced and curved that made him feel as if he were falling. He bit his lips and ignored the vertigo as well as he could, but some of it remained, pulsing in the back of his temple.

"I created a spiral that is supposed to draw things back to you that you summoned and sent out into the world," Draco said. "In this case, my part of the spell. I can stand up to its returning," he added quickly, because Harry was opening his mouth. "It's just my own desire or hatred or—whatever you want to call it. I survived feeling it in the first place, I'll survive it returning to me."

Harry clamped his teeth shut and nodded at the green glow. "And the potion?"

"That's a Liberation Potion," Draco said, and there was a faint smile on his face. "Ordinarily, it would either melt away bars and bindings, if it was being used on a physical prison, or loosen up someone's conscience and inhibitions." He gave Harry a bright, sharp look, and then turned his head away. Harry snorted slightly at the obvious conclusion. "But it can be used to cut through other things, too. In this case, I brewed it with the false memories implanted by a Memory Charm in mind. And when it's poured into the spiral, it strengthens the reverse movement that it implies and takes on a few traits of that movement itself. This is going backwards. Soon, everything in this spiral will be. That includes the spells I cast on my friends."

Harry forced himself to breathe evenly. "How do you know that this particular version of the Liberation Potion is the one you want?"

Draco smiled fiercely. "I brewed it myself. I should have realized before now that that Room can give me anything I want, including the ingredients for a potion like this."

"Illegal ones?" Harry asked, staring into the green liquid that eddied lazily back and forth in the grooves Draco had traced on the ground. "Dark ones?"

"Of course."

Harry nodded in resignation. If Draco was going to brew any potion that didn't fall into the standard kind he probably would have asked Snape to brew for him, it would be something like this. "Okay. But how does it work? It's not like you're going to get your friends to drink it." He peered at the potion again.

Draco snorted, and leaned back on his hands and heels to look up at Harry. Harry could see that some of the normal color had returned to his face, and he looked—well, much happier than he had the last time he and Harry had spoken, at least. "The Liberation Potion was never intended for that unless it was the kind of thing where you wanted one person to overcome their inhibitions. If you need a potion that can dissolve stone walls and iron bars, then you're not going to want to give it to someone else to drink."

Harry eyed him, his hands cupped beneath his chin. Draco was staring at him now with a softened smile playing around his mouth, although Harry knew that Draco would probably hate Harry if he pointed that out to him. Harry blinked. _Was he really that lonely for companionship? Or just for someone to approve of him?_

"The magic that it needs this time comes from the lines of the spiral." Draco reached out and gently let his finger hover over the edge of the sketched groove in the dirt without touching it. "I told you that already."

"You did," Harry admitted. He sighed. "It's just that, after all the trouble we went to to look up Memory Charms in our books and the way that we talked about how dangerous they were, it seems odd that this combination of a potion and a spiral is going to work just because you said so."

Draco's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I spent today thinking about nothing but this. I promise, Harry, it's going to work."

"If you're sure," Harry said. "And I should let you know, if it seems to be—going wrong, then I have to interfere."

Draco sneered at him. Harry almost relaxed at the familiar expression. "How can you tell that it could go wrong, when you know little about Potions and less about rituals?"

"If people start screaming in pain, then I think that's a pretty good sign," Harry pointed out, and then jerked his head up and to the left as he heard the sounds of shuffling footsteps. They would have been pretty quiet to most other people, but Harry had lived on the run last year, and they sounded like dragons tramping through the forest to him.

"They're coming," Draco said, and he flushed and lowered his voice. "Harry. I promise, I _promise_, I'll end the ritual if I think I'm hurting them. I never want to hurt them again, not after what I've already done to them. But I think this is the best chance I'll have to reverse the spell, and channel my part in it back to me. Please?"

Harry stared at Draco. Then he sighed and reached out to clasp his hand. Draco blinked as though shocked at the gesture.

"Yes," Harry whispered. "I trust you that much. I'll only intervene if I think I need to." He flung a Disillusionment Charm over himself, one over the broom that he had left leaning against the side of Hagrid's hut, and stepped to the left. "Where should I stand, so that I don't interfere with the spiral?"

"Anywhere to the right or the left should be fine." Draco stood up, still looking at him with eyes so bright that they made Harry squirm. "Harry. Thank you."

He sprang lightly over the lines and into the center of the spiral before Harry could say anything back, and lifted his hands, one of which held his wand. The green light focused around him and began to glow. Harry leaned against the hut beside his broom and fought the urge to curse, long and low. He still wasn't sure that he should allow Draco to do this, but it was true that Harry himself could do very little, and that all the books agreed the caster should be the one to reverse the messed-up spell if at all possible. If the Slytherins attacked, then Harry could at least prevent anyone from getting hurt.

_Not easy, is it, to stand aside and let someone else save the day?_

The voice sounded like Ron's. Harry grimaced and shook his head wryly, then held his breath as Zabini came around the corner.

Zabini had at least two other people with him, though from the way he had to strain his eyes to see in the low green light and through the Disillusionment Charm, Harry wasn't sure who they were at first. Zabini jerked himself to a stop, his fists closing down abruptly and his eyes narrowing. Harry thought for a moment that Zabini must have seen him, but instead, he was staring at Draco, and the lines of the spiral carved deeply into the earth.

"You can't be that stupid," he breathed.

Draco ignored him entirely, and Harry could see the way Zabini's head jerked forwards before he could stop himself. Harry smiled under the Cloak, despite how hard his heart was beating. Yes, that would be the way to get Zabini's attention: pretend that there was nothing that mattered to you less.

"You _can't _be," Zabini repeated, and spread his hands out in front of him as though Draco was making him grope his way through a thick fog. "You're going to perform a Dark ritual just to get revenge on the giant? Draco. That's _stupid_."

"But that fits with what you think you know about me, right?" Draco's voice was light, and he kept his wand spinning through his fingers. Harry wouldn't have seen the sweat that clustered under the loose curls of his hair along his temple if he wasn't looking for it. "That I'm stupid, that I'm selfish, that I only try to hurt people I consider beneath me and that I don't do anything else?" He turned to face Zabini, keeping his feet carefully in the center of the spiral.

Zabini stared at him, and frowned, and didn't say anything. Harry could almost feel the real memories struggling to break through the enchanted hatred.

Of course, that might not make that much difference to his hatred of Draco, once he found out that he _had _been tortured and that Draco was trying to make up for it. And sure enough, his face smoothed out a moment later, and he shook his head.

"It doesn't matter what you're doing," he said. "I just know that you won't catch _us _out a second time." He jerked his head, and now Harry could see their faces, Goyle and Nott crowding close behind, a shadow behind them that was probably Greengrass or Bulstrode.

_All of them. _Harry saw Draco's lips form the phrase before he raised his wand and brought it down again, a single word escaping his lips. Harry didn't think it was an incantation. It sounded more like, "_Willing_."

Harry's muscles coiled tighter than ever, and it was an effort to keep himself against the wall of the hut, to remind himself that Draco doubtless knew what he was doing better than Harry did. But it _was _hard, with the sparks raining down from Draco's wand and the other Slytherins stepping back, too late, as the hard green glow of the potion solidified and tumbled to the ground in shards of emerald, and eyes seemed to focus on them.

Harry had never seen anything like it before, the way the light hardened and grew and stabbed, and then launched itself across the space at the Slytherins. It pierced them, and they stood there with their mouths open and their wands frozen in their hands, gaping at Hagrid's hut. Harry could see the frantic way their eyes fluttered, and knew they were fighting the imprisoning grip of the magic. But the ritual was all around them, the lines of green light recreating the spiral that surrounded Draco, but in reverse. This one, Harry thought, led away, and green light rose to touch the corners of the Slytherins' temples and tugged.

Silvery liquid leaked along those vines, the kind of liquid that Harry had seen leaking from Snape's eyes when he died—nearly died—in the Shrieking Shack. Memories.

The green light carried them across the ground between the two spirals, and poured them into the channels Draco had dug in the earth. Draco knelt down and held his hand out, and the liquid dashed towards him in a flood, propelled by the power. Harry saw him bow his head and swallow, but his extended hand never wavered.

The magic hit him.

It lit Draco up from inside, flaring through his bones and his skin, making him shimmer like a living statue. Harry opened his mouth to say something, and then found that he would have had no idea what to say even if he knew Draco well. His hands tightened on his wand, and he thought about intervening.

And he still had no idea if he should. So far, no one was screaming—although the Slytherins probably would be if the magic of the ritual hadn't frozen them. Draco had his eyes shut, and his body trembled with the onrush of the light, but he wasn't crying out. Harry looked between them both in indecision, and wrapped his arms around himself, and bowed his head.

Then he opened his eyes again. His own uncertainty tore at him, but if something happened that meant intervention was _necessary_, he could hardly see it with his eyes closed.

The light was whipping through Draco now in long coils that looked like a recreation of the spiral inside his skin, and Harry saw the flaring shadows draped across his heart, his liver, his bowels. It was a way he had never thought he would see someone, and Harry shuddered and shivered and checked the state of his own feelings for a moment.

No. He still desired Draco. This wasn't about to destroy that. If anything, he thought reaching out would only involve him further in the magic and the wanting and the liking and—

_Oh, hell. I don't know if what I'm feeling has a name._

Draco spread his hands slowly, as if clawing at empty air. A grunt of effort broke from his throat, and he rocked back and forth on his heels, and Harry saw cracks spreading through the air in front of him.

Harry stared. Yes, there _was _something there, something where he had thought there was only nothingness. Harry found himself falling a slow step back, and started when his back bounced off the hut.

Draco cracked the nothingness, and dug, and clawed, and pulled, and dragged something dark and writhing out of the places which the nothingness had covered. Harry watched him, and sweated, and shivered, and dreamed.

Draco had been right. There had been some things that he had to do himself. And Harry could feel the uncomfortable emotions inside him crystallize and then surge forwards, and although he would have given anything to help, he had to admit that he wouldn't have missed out on this feeling of pride and wonder for anything in the world.

Draco backed up a step, and then he brought his other hand up to grope at the air beside the first one, and opened his lips, and shouted.

The shout seemed to ring from every corner of the world. Something in Harry's head said that of course it didn't, that he was being ridiculous, and if he could look away from Draco, if he could stop thinking of him as the center of the universe for one second, then he would see how _silly _he was being—

But Draco took another step, and shouted, and heaved, and the air in front of him cracked and something spilled down it.

For a moment, Harry thought it was the same liquid that had filled the grooves, the potion, and then he thought it was more green light. But instead, it was thick and manky and dark, and it clung to Draco's hands. Draco stared at it for the longest time. Harry heard confused murmurs from the Slytherins, as if they were starting to wake up from whatever trance the green light had cast them in, and lifted his wand, prepared to defend Draco if necessary.

But Draco caught his breath, and laughed, sadly, and then nodded and wrapped his hands around the dark knots of whatever it was, squeezing it. The thing bulged, and rippled uncertainly, and then exploded, dripping down his arms. Draco shut his mouth and eyes and pressed back towards Harry as if trying to get away from it.

Harry started to reach out, ready to hold him and shelter him if that was what he needed. The lines of the spiral brightened in warning, though, and Harry doubted that Draco could leave them, or that Harry himself could cross them.

Then the green light flared back to life, more brilliant than before, and making Harry think of his Dementor-driven memory of his mother dying.

The burn was everywhere, shining and overcoming Harry, making him fall back a step in self-defense. One of the Slytherins—Harry hoped it was Zabini—moaned, and there was a sound that might have been someone clapping a hand over his eyes.

The green light burst forth in a single roar, and Harry thought he saw both spirals dancing in the air, connected, the one around Draco and the one around the Slytherins that was made of light, and the night tore itself apart in thunder that Harry was sure his friends would see from Gryffindor Tower, if they woke and looked.

Then the thunder and the light were gone. Harry caught his breath, and swallowed, and forced his eyes open against the pain.

Draco slumped on his knees inside an area of burnt and blasted dirt that might have resembled a spiral, if you had known that and looked hard enough. And the Slytherins were fighting their way back to their feet inside an area that might have looked the same way, but they were more clear-eyed now, and their wands stayed low at their sides as they stared at Draco.

Harry took a step towards them, ready to defend Draco if he had to. Then he remembered that he was Disillusioned, and none of them would see enough of him to realize that he could be a threat. He swished his wand and murmured the countercharm, and saw Goyle turn to gape at him as he suddenly appeared.

But Zabini never glanced at him. He was staring at Draco instead, his jaw set, and after a moment, he spat on the ground, just as Draco got his balance back and shoved himself off the ground into a rise.

"You tortured me," Zabini whispered now. "I remember that. And you tried to make me forget it, me and all the rest of us. You're responsible for what you did to us. You're the reason that we threatened Potter and that we tortured you. You're the one who did something to us so _vile _that our minds knew something was wrong and tried to make us wake up and see that." His hands shook until he clasped them behind his back, and he bowed his head and trembled so hard that Harry was sure for a moment that he was going to vomit.

Draco stood still, his head bowed too and his face utterly pale. Harry would have gone to him, but there were the remains of the spiral, and the fact that Draco might not welcome his interference, and…

And the desire not to make him look weak in front of his friends. Harry had no idea if any friendship could remain between Draco and the other Slytherins now, but he did know that he had the obligation to hold back and try to promote it if it could. So he waited, his heart a high, nervous beat in his own ears.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered. "I'm sorry. It never would have been so bad except that I tried to make you forget, and I wanted to forget, and I wanted to remember, and it all went _wrong_." He hesitated, then held out a hand towards Zabini over the churned dirt near him. "Can you forgive me?"

Zabini jerked back up. His face was almost grey, and his hand shook so badly on his wand that Harry was afraid of what would happen if he did try to curse Draco.

"Forgive you?" he asked. "For torturing me? For giving me nightmares for two months? For _betraying _me?" He choked on something that sounded like a large ball of spit, and then laughed. "Do you think—Draco, you think that you deserve _anything _after that? Except to be thrown out with the rubbish?"

Draco's spine went stiff. He opened his mouth, then shut it again with a sound as small and dry as the burning of paper. Harry could see all the truth in his face; he wondered if Draco's friends—former friends—could read it half as well. Draco had forced himself to concentrate so much on the ritual and spell to get past the corrupted Memory Charm that he hadn't considered what would happen after that if everything didn't simply go back to normal.

"Go fuck yourself with your precious _forgiveness_," Zabini said, and turned and stomped off. The others followed him, except for Goyle, who lingered for a moment, opening his mouth as though to say something. Draco looked up and held his eyes.

That seemed to decide Goyle. In seconds he was gone after the others, and the echoes he left behind died quickly.

Draco stood there. Harry stood there. He wished he had some comfort to give, but he knew there was nothing that wouldn't make the situation worse, so he waited with his mouth closed and looked helplessly at Draco.

Draco used his spread fingers to push his fringe back from his forehead, and then stared at his hand, looking surprised to find it shaking. He gave a shake of his head, in turn, and clasped his hands behind his back. He shut his eyes and swayed on his feet. Well, anyone would have, after a ritual that intense, Harry thought.

But he knew it wasn't from that.

And he knew, suddenly, that he might not be able to _say _anything, but that didn't mean there weren't things he could _do_.

He stepped forwards, and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist.

He didn't say anything, even now, and didn't try to touch Draco further than with the embrace and leaning his chin on Draco's shoulder. It had to be up to Draco—who had done what he had come here to do this evening, unbelievably—to accept Harry's support or not, and Harry could imagine a lot of reasons that he might be reluctant to do that.

Draco choked on air, and took a single step backwards, into Harry. He didn't fall. He was choosing this, and that made Harry choke in turn, and hold him until Draco stirred in his arms and whispered that they should go back to the school.

They did, walking under Disillusionment with the broom floating behind them, because riding would have required them to separate.


	27. Swimming to the End

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Seven—Swimming for the End_

"If you had told me what was happening from the beginning, then there might not have been a need for this."

McGonagall spoke quietly, so as not to wake Draco in his bed in the hospital wing, but she was staring at Harry hard enough to make him flush. Harry clasped his hands between his knees and took a deep breath, wondering if he could make McGonagall understand without explaining the whole situation with the Slytherins and other things that Draco might prefer to keep secret for now.

Yes, he could. He would tell the truth as far as he was able to, and then explain that the rest of it was secret as the result of a promise he had made to Draco. McGonagall was a Gryffindor, and she had lived through the war, just like him, when Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix had depended on keeping secrets to survive. Of all the adults in the school right now, Harry thought he could probably trust her to understand the most.

So he looked her in the eye and said, "Draco made a mistake. This summer, before he ever came back to school. I've been doing research with him to try and help him correct the mistake."

McGonagall's face went pale, and she looked at Draco as though calculating whether he weighed enough to be the instrument of something so deadly. "So…this magical exhaustion is the result of a ritual that he did to atone for his error?"

Harry shrugged and nodded at the same time. If she didn't guess that Draco had also involved a potion, then Harry saw no reason to tell her, at least not until the distant day when he might be able to tell her everything.

"How did you find the books that concern the manipulation of time?" McGonagall turned to him now, and she had hold of herself in the iron grip Harry had used himself a few times, to keep from breaking down at a funeral. "We removed them even from the Restricted Section, as students no longer study it in any class or write essays on it."

Harry blinked, and then understood where some of her pallor came from. He shook his head with a faint grin. "You're not understanding, Headmistress," he said. "Draco didn't literally try to travel back in time and correct the mistake that way. He just did something that ought to make up for it, that ought to end the spell he cast."

Slowly, McGonagall leaned back in her chair and nodded. "Then we need only fear the consequences of a charm or a curse, not—not broken time."

"Yes," Harry said, and gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry to scare you like that, but I really didn't think you'd take it that way."

McGonagall took a few harsh breaths, and then she was her professional self again, leaning forwards to look Harry in the eye. "I need to know what you did, Mr. Potter. I need to know what kind of atonement for this mistake that Mr. Malfoy made could be performed on the grounds of this school. I presume it was not a sin against the Ministry, but against the staff or students, if it was here."

"No," Harry said.

McGonagall studied him from a different angle this time, apparently because she thought it might change his single word into a different single word. "Did you hear what I said, Mr. Potter?" she asked, and her voice had gone so soft and dangerous that Harry shivered and rubbed at his arms.

"Yes, I did," he said. "And sorry. But the answer's still no. I made a promise to Draco that I wouldn't reveal any of this before he wanted me to. I had to reveal this much because I knew he was suffering from magical exhaustion and I couldn't heal him myself." _Well, that and emotional shock, which I think I _can _do something about. _But he wasn't about to add anything into the conversation that he didn't absolutely have to, in case it proved a lever for McGonagall to crack the riddle. "I think—I think I have to hold to my promise and do what I can for him, because that's honorable."

"You would lie to me?" McGonagall's voice was soft, precise—and wondering. Maybe she hadn't thought he cared about Draco that much, or had assumed that his days of lying to professors and running around doing things in the shadows were over when the war was.

"Not lie," Harry said. "Just keep something secret for a little while. For all I know, Draco could wake up and tell me that it's all right to tell you, or it'll become obvious some other way." He had wondered if the Slytherins might not make it clear what had happened, but when he thought about that more clearly, he doubted it. For one thing, that would involve admitting they were "weak" enough to fall victim to a Memory Charm; for another thing, they were already treating Draco like shit, and no one was likely to notice any difference between what they were doing now and what they had done before. "But I made a promise, and I don't like breaking it. I don't think it's good to. Please don't ask me to tell you."

McGonagall stared at him now with a different look in her eyes, but it wasn't one that Harry recognized. Oddly enough, that made him relax, because he had seen adults about to scold him plenty of times, and this wasn't that look.

McGonagall turned and gazed into the fire that burned on the far side of the hospital wing. "Very well," she said distantly. "But you realize that you are going to serve several detentions for me. I cannot treat you differently from the other students, and as long as you are still attending classes here, then you are under our rules."

Harry sighed and bowed his head. She might not believe it, but it really was a sigh of relief. "Yes, Headmistress. I understand."

"Come to my office for your first detention at seven tomorrow night," McGonagall ended, and gave Harry one more steady look before she stood and swept out of the hospital wing. Harry craned his neck to watch her go, and was almost ready when she paused again at the door, fingers digging into the stones.

"Will you promise _me _one thing, Mr. Potter?" she whispered. "Will you promise that you are not keeping this secret because you know that Mr. Malfoy would be punished for murder if this got out?"

"I can promise you, he didn't kill anyone," Harry said quietly. "I couldn't cover that up. And I wouldn't, not for anyone," he added, a little relieved in and of himself to have found something he wouldn't do for Draco.

McGonagall nodded, her shoulders relaxing, and then stepped out and strode down the corridor. Harry listened, but her steps seemed no less firm than ever.

He turned to the bed, only to find Draco lying there with his hands behind his head, awake and watching him. Harry started and reached for the glass of water that Madam Pomfrey had left on the table beside the bed, with stern instructions for Harry to give it to Draco the instant he woke up.

Draco opened his mouth to accept the water, which was flavored with lemon, but never took his eyes from Harry. Harry tilted the glass until Draco motioned for him to take it away, which really happened too quickly for Harry's taste. Harry put it down on the table and knotted his hands beneath his knees, watching Draco warily.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked at last, when it became perfectly obvious that Draco didn't intend to speak first, no matter what happened.

"Enough," Draco said, and then his eyes glinted, maybe because Harry felt the scowl building on his own face. "All right. The whole thing."

Harry sighed and nodded. "So do you think that you'll want to tell her anytime soon? Or should we just let her wonder?" He tried to smile, but his face felt curiously stiff. Maybe it was just because it was dawning on him, now, how close they had come to doing something completely _stupid._

Draco shook his head, sitting up. "I would have to listen to lots of lectures about how I shouldn't have done it, no matter what happened, and if I tell her what prompted it, then I would get lectures about torturing someone. And maybe arrested." He spoke quietly, staring at his hands. "There are few people who would forgive me for what I did, you know."

"Other people ought to understand what you were going through last year," Harry said firmly, and reached for his hand. "Yes, you weren't the only one who suffered, but that just means that you deserve _more _consideration from them."

Draco looked up so suddenly that Harry thought he heard something pop in his neck. "And the way you think is another of those uncommon things," he murmured, leaning forwards. "Don't you see, Harry? There are people who would forgive you for doing something like this, but not me. Never me."

"Well…I know that, of course." Harry pushed at his fringe, and Draco's glance darted up to it. Harry found that he was instinctively pushing it over to cover up his scar. He coughed in embarrassment and dropped his hand. "But that doesn't mean you can never ask for forgiveness. If you're right about my reputation, then having me on your side should improve your chances for a fair hearing, at least."

Draco smiled sadly at him, and then took a deep breath and said, "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Harry nodded, thinking it was probably the potion Snape had promised that would let them see through the wards on Azkaban. "I don't know when the potion will be ready, because Snape hasn't got in contact with me yet—"

"I _meant_," Draco said, "the reason that you're defending me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Is this going to be another of those conversations where you ask for certain things from me and I don't know what they mean? I can get angry, if you want. Or I can tell you how proud I was of you for coming up with that ritual and using that potion and managing to get it _just _right to free your friends. If that's what you want."

"No," Draco said, and hesitated, and then spoke in a rush that reminded Harry of Ron asking Hermione out for the first time. "You're in love with me, aren't you?"

Harry felt as though he had hot and cold running blood under the surface of his skin for a moment. He coughed, and caught his breath, and squeezed Draco's hands until Draco made a protesting motion and stared at him. Then Harry sighed, and decided that he might as well own up to it.

"I think so," he said. "Or at least I have a really intense infatuation with you."

Draco snorted, although he sounded a little shaky. "I don't think an _infatuation _would make you do everything that you've done for me, Harry," he said, squeezing Harry's hands and finally bringing his head up so that their eyes connected.

"You'd be surprised how intense my emotions can get," Harry murmured. And now he was the one who had trouble not looking away. _Well. Just further proof that Draco isn't a coward, and that everyone has things they find hard to face. _"But, yes. This was what you wanted to prove that you're more than a charity project to me, wasn't it? Congratulations." He managed what he hoped was a natural-looking smile, though he wasn't totally sure about that. "You are."

Draco considered him carefully for a few minutes. Then he leaned towards Harry and kissed him.

It was on the cheek, not the lips, and Harry was horribly aware—to the point that his skin was tingling—all the while of how someone coming in through the door of the hospital wing would see them. But at the same time, he felt the way that Draco's fingers squeezed down on his until Harry thought he would break something, and Draco made a little grunt of satisfaction in the back of his throat as he pulled away.

"Did that—did that tell you something?" Harry licked his lips. His throat was parched, but he didn't think water would have satisfied his thirst.

"That I'm too scared to kiss you on the mouth yet? Yeah." Draco shrugged.

Harry snorted despite himself. "So, are you in love with me?" He couldn't have imagined asking that question yesterday, but now it was important.

Draco hesitated before he replied, and Harry felt what seemed like a sinking sensation in his chest. He did his best to ignore that. He had known that Draco probably didn't feel for him what he felt for Draco, and that didn't matter to the _important _things, like whether he could help Draco fight his father or not.

"I don't know," Draco said. "This summer—I never thought about anything like that. I had too much else to think about."

Harry found that he could breathe again, and also smile. "Oh, if you think that I was secretly pining for you over the summer, then think again," he said lightly, and squeezed Draco's hands. Draco glanced at the door to the corridor, but he could do that all he wanted. Harry didn't hear anyone else coming, which meant no one was there to see. "This obsession started when I saw you on the Hogwarts Express and realized that something weird had happened."

Draco's eyes jerked back to his face. "Sometimes I think that I _am _just another of your charity cases or your mysteries," he snapped, and yanked again, nearly making Harry sprawl forwards on the bed.

"You're not," Harry said quietly. "But how could I think that I might fall in love with you when there was nothing to go on? As far as I knew when the school year started, you'd just be someone I used to hate. Someone who helped me last year, but we had life-debts between us, and that should hopefully be the only connection we still shared."

Draco frowned at him. "All right, fine, so you didn't feel anything more for me until we started working together to solve the mystery of what happened to my friends."

"And until I found out that you had lied to me, and that was why we were getting nowhere at first," Harry added helpfully.

Draco moved his hands fretfully for a moment, but in the end they stayed locked in Harry's, instead of being pulled away. "Why _did _you decide that you wanted to be around me, after that?" he asked.

"We've been over this," Harry reminded him. "But you felt remorse about it. And you tried to solve your own problem, and in the end, you were the one who came up with the solution that actually worked. And you yelled at me, and told me that you wanted to succeed on your own. I never could have fallen in love with someone who remained as cringing and as dependent as you were in your first few years here. You always depended on someone to back you up then. Your father, or Umbridge, or Professor Snape. Now—now you're acting on your own, and I'm finding that the person you are when you're out of the shadows is someone I rather like."

"I acted alone during my sixth year, too," Draco muttered, but he was smiling.

"I never realized that you wanted me to be that specific, but okay," Harry said. "I like you when you're acting on your own and not bringing Death Eaters into the school. That more the kind of thing you wanted to hear?"

Draco's mouth, predictably, turned down. "And that's why this is hard to deal with," he said. "You can't just decide to _forget _about what happened between us."

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "What made you think I would forget?"

"The way you're talking." Draco waved one hand around, which meant he had to take it away from Harry. Harry waited patiently for Draco to finish waving it around, and then clasped it again when he was done. Draco stared at him, but kept on going. "It's as if you think our pasts and our presents are entirely separate, as if you think of us as different people now."

"We were always different people," Harry pointed out, grinning. "Who's forgetting about the past now?"

"I _meant_," Draco said, his voice lowering to a tone that Harry didn't think he'd ever heard from him before, "different people from our past selves. The summer didn't change us that much. We can never forget what we were. Don't joke about this, Harry."

Harry sighed, and stroked Draco's fingers, smoothing his own fingers up and down them. It was absurd how fascinating even Draco's _knuckles _were, he thought, as though the slightly different texture of them was something Harry should spend years investigating.

"I'll try not to," he said. "But I do feel the summer changed me. I wanted to change. Last year, I was—I was a sacrifice, and I was a hero, and I was someone who just wanted a normal life and thought I was never going to get it. But then I decided that if I wanted that normal life, I had to make it for myself. So I did."

Draco snorted and shook his head. "Not an option for me."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "It's true that you don't have as much prestige as you used to, but you can make your own way in the world. Act different enough from your father, and people will start to notice you aren't him."

Draco stared at him. Then he sighed and said, "Harry, trying to establish myself on my own this late in the game is—just not going to work. It would for _you_, because people still respect your name. You might have trouble moving out of the shadow of your own deeds, but you're the most prominent member of your family. You probably always will be." The sour note in his voice was envy, Harry thought.

Harry opened his mouth to say that he would give all his prestige up to have his parents back—

And then sighed. That was true, and it wouldn't solve their problems right now. He said, "I can help you."

"Then my prestige becomes a borrowed reflection of _yours_." Draco ducked his head and moved it sharply to the side, his hands hurting Harry's before he snatched them away. "I don't want that. At least, with my father's shadow, I expected to grow up in it. But I don't want to be overshadowed by my famous friend the way Weasley is."

"Ron doesn't feel that way," Harry snapped, and took Draco's right hand back, since he was using the left to smooth his fringe back and seemed to want to keep it free more. "He used to feel in the shadow of _his _family, sure, because he thought all his big brothers were brilliant. But he learned what he could do during the war, and he knows that he has nothing to be jealous of where I'm concerned, either."

"Isn't that nice for him," Draco said, voice soft and vicious. "Excuse me if the war wasn't a learning experience for _me_."

"If I'd only listened to what the war taught me, then I would know how to die and nothing else," Harry said, leaning forwards, getting in Draco's face. Draco's eyes focused on him, wide and startled, but at least he was listening, at least he was looking, and Harry thought that might be the best way to get through to him. "I didn't. I made myself otherwise. You can do the same thing, I told you."

"I have to have the will to do that," Draco said. "I have to have more fame than the war left me with. I don't have those."

"Then you have the will to sit around and sulk for the rest of your life?" Harry demanded. His voice was rising, but he didn't think that mattered. Madam Pomfrey was asleep in the back of the hospital wing, and the door was shut, so they would hear if someone opened it to come in. "That's all you want to do? Nothing else? Not raise the fortunes of your family back up, not help your mother, not earn your friends' friendship back again?"

"Those are the things I would like to do _if I could_," Draco said, as if explaining to a small child. "But I can't."

"How do you know you can't?"

"Because my friends will never forgive me, and neither will society." Again Draco eyed Harry sidelong, as if he assumed that he had acquired brain damage sometime in the last few minutes. "That's all."

"Maybe they won't," Harry had to agree. "But you don't _know _that. You're just afraid of the hard work involved. You just want an excuse to give up and skive off. You always wanted one. I remember the way you whinged on when Buckbeak attacked you, and pretended your arm always hurt worse than it could have from just a scratch—"

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco hissed, his eyes glittering. Harry liked that. It made him look considerably more alive. "It _did _hurt."

"You kept going," Harry continued. "You tried to get my attention even though you knew you would never have my friendship—or you thought you did, and look what's happened now. You tried your best to help and save your parents. You might have saved the whole world by not revealing me at the Manor. You can _change _things. Maybe not to the exact result you want, but in _some _way. You've already changed it just by being a snotty, cowardly whiner as a teenager. What's going to happen when you're a much stronger adult?"

Draco's mouth fell open as he stared at him. Harry stared back, his heart hammering and his chest tight, and this time when Draco lunged forwards and kissed him, it was on the lips and Harry felt it with his tongue and his mouth and his teeth.

Harry tried to wind his arms around Draco's neck, to keep him there, but Draco pulled back and anxiously shook his head, and so Harry tried to calm down and wait. He licked his lips again and again, getting the taste, absorbing it. His heart dazzled him with its speed, but he could wait when Draco was looking at him like that.

"If I can love you," Draco said softly, "it'll be for moments like that, for the way you challenge me, the way you drive me on, not because of what your fame can do for me."

"And that is exactly _your _kind of romantic declaration," Harry said, and leaned forwards to steal another kiss.

For the moment, he didn't need any other kind of happiness.


	28. Detentions Towards the Future

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Eight—Detentions Towards the Future_

"You will be writing lines for me, Mr. Potter."

It was an easier detention than Harry had expected, and he sat down at the desk that McGonagall had put in front of her own in the Transfiguration classroom with a feeling of relief. He had ink and parchment with him, but McGonagall motioned him to put them away; apparently she would rather he use what she had on the desk. Harry lifted the quill waiting there, too, and stared obediently at her.

"You will be writing me an essay," McGonagall said, folding her hands in front of her. She had another odd expression on her face, but this one didn't make Harry think she was about to scold him. It looked more…fond to him. "Actually, two, over the series of several detentions that we will have together. In the first essay, you will explain why you broke school rules—in as much detail as you can without betraying Mr. Malfoy's secrets," she added, anticipating the real reason that his mouth was opening.

"All right," Harry said, nodding. He had done this before, writing about what had possessed him to turn in essays late or play "dangerous pranks" on his friends. He could probably do this one in his sleep.

"And the second essay," McGonagall said, "will be telling me some of your plans for your future after you leave Hogwarts."

Harry blinked, and the kind of answer he would have given Ron or Hermione popped out unexpectedly. "You mean, things like trying to stay alive and avoiding Rita Skeeter?"

Only someone who knew his Head of House as well as he did would have known that the curve of her mouth was trying to hide a smile. "I rather meant, Mr. Potter," she said gently, "that you will write about whether you want to be an Auror, or something else. Try to choose several options. I know you, and trying to chain yourself to one at this point will give you all the more incentive to ignore it."

Harry blinked again. "Why are you doing this, Headmistress?" he asked. "Really. It doesn't sound like a punishment, and at the moment, I don't know for sure what I want to do anyway." He tried to remember who he had mentioned wanting to be a Healer to. He thought only Ron and Hermione, but his life had been so scattered and random lately that it was possible he might have told Draco, too.

McGonagall's eyes glinted. "For many teenagers, I rather think that being told to think seriously about their futures at this time of life is a hardship," she said. "For the rest, I am curious to know if you still want to labor as an Auror now that you have glimpsed, through Professor Klein, what Aurors have to put up with in their chosen jobs."

"Yeah, a load of bollocks," Harry muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for language," McGonagall said, and leaned forwards. "You have little concern for the future, Harry. I can understand that. You are only recently coming around to the notion of _having _one. But I am still a teacher, and this is still my school. I still wish you to think." She tapped an hourglass sitting on her desk, and it turned over and began to pour sand through the bulbs. "The first hour on the essay explaining what you thought, and then the second one on the essay that explains what you will think," she said, voice already distracted as she drew a pile of scrolls towards her.

Harry stared at her some more. McGonagall looked up and arched an eyebrow. "I can add as many minutes to that time as needed," she said mildly.

"No need," Harry said hastily, and started writing. He already knew the first things he would say in the first essay, which would be the easier of the two to write. He didn't trust adults that much, he had learned during the war that you had to keep promises and that he _could _keep promises, and he wanted to give Draco chances that he knew most other people wouldn't give him.

But the second one would be a hard task, and one that unsettled him more, the longer the sand poured and the nearer it loomed.

Who else was going to make him think about that kind of thing? Did he have to make the decisions right _now_? He should have the future to plan, as well as the present. To hear Hermione talk, planning for the future was something you did in the small holidays between preparing for the NEWTS.

_And finding your parents._

Harry felt his shoulders relax as he wrote on, though, and worked out why McGonagall was probably doing this in his head. She saw him go straight from the war to another thing, to helping Draco and fighting the Death Eaters. She might wonder what he would do with himself when both those things were done, since he couldn't make a career out of either of them unless he wanted to become an Auror.

_Maybe I could open a special agency for helping Malfoys, and do that for the rest of my life. Sometimes I think Draco might need it._

But then he remembered who his other two clients would be, and shuddered, hastily pushing the thought aside like the joke it was. No, _no_, thank you. He would do something else.

Writing, even the second essay, was strangely pleasant in the soft silence of the Transfiguration classroom with the shushing of the sand in McGonagall's hourglass and the scratching of her own quill over the essays. Even knowing that his own essay was probably on her desk didn't dim Harry's enthusiasm. He found himself going up to Gryffindor Tower sorry to leave the silence behind.

* * *

"I don't care, Ron. I have to try. I have to try _anything _that I can to find them."

Harry raised his head from his breakfast and turned towards Hermione. For the last few days, he'd left her and Ron alone, because they seemed to be making good progress on the Memory Charms, and it wasn't as though Harry had much time or attention to spare.

But he thought it sounded as if they might need help now. Hermione's hands were clenched around the big book she held in front of her, and she was staring at it, but not as if she was reading it. Her eyes were half-closed, her nostrils flared, and Harry had the distinct impression that she would already have whipped her head around and bitten Ron, but that it was too much trouble.

Ron sat close to her and stared at her anxiously—too anxiously, Harry thought, seeing the way that Hermione's hand twitched on her book. She turned the page mechanically, but he knew that her heart wasn't in it.

And then he heard what Ron murmured in reply to her statement.

"I know you want to. Of course you do. But you haven't had any luck so far, and every weekend you come back with your heart more torn up. Let me go in your place, just once. I can use the spells that you found. Most of them don't _require _a blood connection. Teach me the ones that don't, and make sure I have them right, and I can go."

"And you think that it'll be any better when you're out there searching and I'm just sitting uselessly here?" Hermione turned her face up to him, and Harry was a little appalled by how hard she was trying not to cry. "No, Ron. I can't _do _this. Leave me alone, or help me research. You can't do anything else."

"So you thought I was just sitting here uselessly while you were in Australia searching?" Ron's voice had become a sharp hiss.

Harry winced, and thought about abandoning them to their argument the way he had last time Ron had attracted Hermione's irritation. But he leaned forwards instead, until both of them could no longer pretend he wasn't, and asked quietly, "Can I help?"

Hermione shut her mouth with a snap and looked away. Ron turned towards him and gripped Harry's arm hard enough to make him wince. Ron noticed, let go, and started gripping the table instead. "Tell her that she can't do anything to find them right now, and she might find them faster if she let me help," he snarled.

"Yeah, right," Harry said, seeing the way that Hermione shut her eyes and bowed her head as if praying for strength. "I'm not going to say _that_. It sounds like you did a great job of saying it yourself, really."

Ron followed his gaze, and winced, and reached out to put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I didn't mean it," he whispered. "Really. I just—I get so sick of seeing the way it hurts you, and you won't let me help."

"Because you _can't,_" Hermione said, and scrubbed at her eyes. For a moment, Harry thought she would bang the book down and run out of the room, but she seemed tired of people getting to see her arguments end in public. She bit her tongue, sat up straight, and laid the book firmly down in front of her. "I'd like you to help if you could, Ron," she continued, staring straight ahead, her fingers plucking out a nervous little tattoo on the pages. "But you can't. So _please _don't ask again."

"Then give me something to do," Ron said. "The names of books to look up in the library. The names of spells that don't work, so I can go figure out why they didn't." He put a tentative hand on Hermione's shoulder. Harry blinked as he watched the cautious way Ron touched her. He wondered if that was waiting for him and Draco in a few years. "Please. There's nothing I want more than to help you."

Hermione shook her head and opened her mouth to say something that would probably start the argument again, but Harry jumped in first. "What about a ritual? Have you tried that?"

Hermione looked at him as if he had taken up speaking Bulgarian. No, wait, she would understand Bulgarian better, Harry thought. She'd probably studied it when she was dating Krum. "A ritual can't work," she said patiently. "There's no way—it can't reach across that distance, and I'd have to have some object of my parents' that I could use as fuel for it. I don't have anything of theirs."

"I saw that you have one of your mother's old rings on your finger sometimes," Harry said quietly, stirring his spoon around in the porridge. "I think you said you took it from their house after you removed their memories. You couldn't use that?"

"Living material would work best," Hermione said. "Hair, or blood." But her eyes were wide open, and when she picked up the book and paged through it again, Harry thought she was looking for something specific. Then she jumped up, shook her head, said, "It's not _in _here," and ran out of the Great Hall.

Harry became aware Ron was watching him. He raised an eyebrow and waited until Ron snorted and glanced away.

"I'm torn between being grateful and being a bit irritated that you're the one who suggests the ideas she accepts," Ron muttered, and then sighed and shook his head. "What am I saying? Of course I'm bloody grateful. There's a chance she could find them now." He held his hand out, and Harry took it. "Just—try not to be so _great _at everything all the time, okay?"

Harry was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt by the time he left the Great Hall, and it only increased when he saw the black owl swooping towards him. The owl's distant gaze and slightly disgusted head-bobs told him who it belonged to before it landed on a small shelf in the stone beside him and extended its leg.

Snape's handwriting stabbed his eyes as Harry took the letter out of the envelope, but it didn't matter, not when he had so much else to hope for.

_Potter—_

_The potion is nearly ready. However, in the absence of a stone from Azkaban—which I will not venture near enough the prison to obtain—I need something that will allow me to connect the potion with the one it seeks. I must ask you to obtain a piece of Mr. Malfoy's hair and send it to me. As close as you are, this should not be an impossible gift._

_ Your contact._

Harry snorted and shook his head, crumpling up the letter to stick it in his pocket. Snape was still paranoid enough not to sign his name to a letter? Well, since he would probably be tried if he was found alive, that was good policy, actually.

"Is that about our dilemma? Or just another letter from a lover or a fan?"

Harry spun around. Draco was leaning against the wall behind him, watching him so carefully that Harry wondered what he had done. On the other hand, it was probably impossible for Draco not to be careful around him after their scene in the hospital wing the other day.

"Our dilemma," Harry said, and flicked his eyes at some of the students passing by. "Shall we go to a private room where we can explore it more fully?"

"It's like _that_, then."

Harry turned, and his hand was on his wand before he even thought about it. Zabini stood behind him, studying him with an elaborate show of interest before he turned to Draco. The rage and pain that appeared in his eyes _then_ made Harry sure that Zabini didn't give a fuck about Harry himself. This was still about the best way to make the friend who had tortured him and controlled his mind pay.

_And phrased like that, I can see why he would want payment. _But Harry didn't, frankly, have the patience to let Zabini take his revenge out on Draco.

"That was what you betrayed us for," Zabini said, taking a long step forwards and staring at Draco. "Because you could finally get the boy who you always wanted as a friend to notice you. You didn't give a shit about your _real _friends next to him."

"Oh, yes, good try, Blaise," Draco said, his face set and cold and his voice back in the drawl that Harry was most used to hearing from him. "Because I somehow knew that Potter would be sympathetic to me during the summer, when I cast the spell, and not turn away from me in disgust when he heard what had happened." He glanced at Harry, then away. "The whole thing was to obtain him, and not because I made a mistake, and snapped when you questioned me."

Zabini shook his head, his face grey. Harry wondered if the memories of the summer and the school year were still drifting and settling, and he honestly didn't remember that Harry hadn't joined Draco until after the school year began. Perhaps it hurt too much to think about that night Draco had cursed him head-on, even now.

_Another thing I can't blame him for. _Harry eased his hand onto his wand. _But which I still won't let him curse Draco for. Draco made the only atonement he could._

"You want to shag him," Zabini said, turning back to Harry.

_Remember that you're just a tool in his attempts to hurt Draco._ That kept Harry from reacting the way he would have if Zabini had said that to him alone. He met the other boy's eyes and shrugged a little. "So what if I do? I don't see you lining up to do it."

Draco's mouth fell open, Harry noticed from the corner of his eye. He also noticed there were no other Slytherins around. He relaxed. That made it more likely that this little confrontation was Zabini's idea, and _that _meant he probably either really wanted reconciliation with Draco or wanted to scream his heart out without being heard by the rest of Draco's friends. Either way, it said nothing about what Goyle and the rest of them might want.

"You know what he did," Zabini said. "And you'll let someone like that into your bed."

"He's watched me kill twice, now," Harry said. "Once with a curse that left me spattered with blood." That was the closest he could come to telling the truth about Fenrir Greyback's death, given the Ministry cover-up. From the way Zabini frowned at him, he might recognize the truth in Harry's tone despite everything. "I did worse things than he did during the actual war. I didn't have someone holding a wand to my throat and telling me to do them, either. Yeah, I'll shag him if he wants, and be bloody grateful that there's at least one person who doesn't want me for my fame and won't flinch from me for my magic."

"You're both as mad as each other," Zabini said, trying to sound the way he had when he first began his accusations, and not succeeding. He turned away.

"That was a weak insult, Blaise," Draco said, not raising his voice. "And you know what we always said about weak insults."

Zabini flinched and sped up. Draco turned away and began walking, with a stride that didn't quite hide how badly his hands were shaking. But he thrust them in his pockets so no one could see. Harry checked over his shoulder to make sure that Zabini wasn't going to hex them, and then followed.

"What do you say about weak insults?" he asked Draco, when he sensed they were far enough away for him to ask it.

"That you don't mean them," Draco said, and shoved open the door of a storage room used for extra desks. He stepped inside, beckoning Harry after him, and shut the door. Then he said, "Tell me."

"Snape needs some of your hair," Harry murmured, drawing the letter from his pocket and holding it out. "He thinks that can establish a connection to your father and let him brew the potion so we can see past Azkaban's wards."

Draco took the letter and studied it for a moment. Then he nodded. "I can certainly give him that." He drew his wand, took a strand of his hair, and murmured a cutting charm that Harry could barely hear. When the fine tendril pulled free, he held it out to Harry with a solemn look.

Harry took it, and then reached out and tugged Draco closer. Draco came, but with that tense holding-back in his body that he'd done during the confrontation with Zabini.

"What is it?" he snapped. "If Snape is right and he really _does _have a potion that can see through the wards into the prison, then there isn't anything more he should need from us."

"I want to know," Harry whispered to him, "how you're doing. And why you've been avoiding me since that night in the hospital wing." He let his fingers trace Draco's collarbone and creep around to the pulse in his throat. Draco didn't pull away, although he did flush hard enough to make Harry feel the heat under his palm.

"Of course you would remember the night _that _way, and not as the night that I performed the ritual that freed my friends," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes.

"So sorry that it wasn't the first thing on my mind," Harry murmured, feeling a delightful roll of anger and impatience and exhilaration pass through him. Draco had wanted him to stop being a saint, hadn't he? Well, Harry could do that now. "But now, I _am _concerned that you might be regretting telling me the way you felt. You've gone out of your way not to look at me or talk to me or be alone with me the last few days."

Draco turned his head away and stared broodingly at a point on the far side of the room. Harry just waited. It wasn't that easy to ignore someone with their hand in your shirt and their other hand on your collarbone.

Draco finally whispered, "I don't know that we can do this. You keep talking about the things I can achieve, but you don't _know _that I can."

"I don't," Harry said, raising his eyebrows and letting his hand on Draco's neck fall into a regular, gentle press of warmth against his shoulder. "But I think you might be able to. I didn't realize that you were allergic to statements of faith in you."

Sure enough, as he had thought might happen, Draco snapped his head around, and his eyes _burned_. "You have not the slightest fucking idea what it's like to be me," he said.

Harry shook his head. "No. I spent too long ignoring you, and then our fates since the war have been very different. What's it like?"

Draco gaped at him, and then spent a moment eyeing him sideways, as though he rather suspected Harry was taking the piss but couldn't figure out how. Harry smiled at him and said nothing, fingers still playing with the cloth of Draco's shirt. He wanted to hear more about Draco's life, about his perspective, and Draco wanted the chance to talk. They both got to be selfish, and they both got to win.

Draco finally grimaced and said, "All my mother does is wander around the Manor and make vague plans and then abandon them. I only came back because—because I thought I could remove the spell on my friends somehow, and because it was the only thing I could think of to do. Not because I wanted to get my NEWTS and do something with my life."

Harry nodded. "Then the first thing you need is a goal. And it doesn't matter if it's a stupid goal, or one that you change your mind about later, because, at the very least, you can focus your mind on something else once you're out of this desponding mood."

"What should I focus on, then?" Draco demanded, shoving at him.

"A couple things," Harry said, and refused to step away. "These problems that you're still trying to solve, seeing if it _is _your father in charge of the Death Eaters and trying to get your friends back. Me. And your Potions talent. You're the best in the class, Draco, and even Slughorn knows it, when he isn't trying to heap praises on me. You could do a lot with it, if you wanted to."

Draco frowned. "I don't know if I want to."

"But you should investigate it now," Harry said firmly. "Until you come up with something else that you'd like better."

"Or what?" Draco sneered at him. "What consequence could you bring down on me that would convince me to—"

Harry leaned forwards and kissed him, softly, warmly, and with conviction. Draco's mouth fell open, and his tongue darted out with an eager moan that Harry felt more than he heard.

"Pick something," Harry said, leaning back at last and smiling at Draco. "Or I won't kiss you like that again until you do."

"Threats?" Draco's eyelashes drooped down to shade his eyes. "Bribes? You're talking like a Slytherin, Potter."

"Good," Harry said. "Some of the best people I know are Slytherins. And this way, I know it's your native language."

Draco shoved at him again, but there was a thin smile on his face, and Harry closed his hand tightly around the strand of hair and grinned back.


	29. Through the Walls of Stone

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Nine—Through the Walls of Stone_

"And now, boys…"

Professor Flitwick was turning towards Harry and Draco with a look of expectation that was, frankly, terrifying. But they had been working on Triad Charms—and more often now that Draco's friends were free of the corrupted Memory Charm and they had to wait for Snape to brew the potion—so Harry nodded and stood up, glancing over at Draco. He was already on his feet, his lips slightly parted as though he was feeling his way through the words of the incantation they would use in his head.

"But professor," Zabini said, so innocently that most people listening to him might have forgotten he was a Slytherin, "Potter and Malfoy are pretty _close_, don't you think? That might make the Triad Charm too easy for them. It's not a real test."

Draco stiffened and shot Zabini a glare that made Harry want to cheer. Draco had gone from cringing in front of Zabini's insults to fighting back against some of them to openly resenting them. He still wanted Zabini back as a friend, Harry had no doubt, but if Zabini continued attacking him over completely unrelated things, then that would lessen Draco's desperation.

And that was all to the good, in Harry's opinion. He couldn't see Draco and Zabini forming a strong friendship again if it only happened because of guilt and outrage.

"Well, Mr. Zabini, I should _hope _they would know each other well after the weeks of practice that they've put in," Flitwick said, pushing his glasses up his nose and giving Zabini his version of a severe glare. "Triad Charms are cast together for this reason." He turned and gave Draco an encouraging nod. Harry wondered if Flitwick was really sensitive to the fact that Draco needed it or just assumed Harry had all the confidence he would ever require after being at war for the last year. "When you're ready, gentlemen."

Harry took a step behind Draco. Draco half-turned his head to regard him and mouthed the words, _As we decided?_

Harry muffled a snort at the idea that he would change his mind when they were on the verge of casting as a pair for the first big test. He just nodded and raised his wand. Draco faced the front of the classroom and raised his at the same time.

As Draco spoke the incantation they had decided on, Harry murmured the spell that would transfer his power to Draco, and felt the sensation running through him, sweet and strong and heady, like some of the Firewhisky he'd helped George drink after Fred's funeral.

"_Olim videri!"_

The air around them seemed to grow thick, and Harry wanted to cough. But that would probably ruin Draco's nervous concentration, so he held the sound in and instead watched as the colors gushed and danced, wavered back and forth like fire against the wall and then became so solid and real that Harry nearly reached out to feel them.

He and Draco had chosen an illusion spell for this practical exam, which required concentration and demonstration of a powerful and finicky charm. But it was a special illusion spell, modified with a twist from some of the ones that Mind-Healers used in treating patients with blocked memories. Harry gave a half-smile. Their Memory Charm research had succeeded in helping them with their schoolwork after all.

The colors collided and locked together, and Harry had the sensation, again, of choking on incense, and then it was gone and they were staring at what looked like a tapestry. On one side, it shone with the colors of green and brown and rusty yellow. It was the Forbidden Forest, the way it had looked on the night when Harry walked through it to confront Voldemort.

On the other side—

Harry couldn't help but reach forwards and grip Draco's shoulder when he saw it, even knowing it might distract him. Draco had said very little of which memory he intended to handle, and Harry hadn't pressed him on that, either. It had seemed best to let him choose when he'd had so little to choose in the past few years.

But it was a memory of Draco standing in front of his mad, dead aunt, with Bellatrix staring him in the eyes and whispering, "You have to hold your Occlumency shields, baby. You have to _hold _them. Or—" She bent down in front of Draco, so fast it was terrifying, smiling at him from a few inches away with bright and bloody teeth. "Or I'll _rip _them away." Then she lifted her head and changed her smile, looking now as though she was petting a beloved dog. "You see? Incentive!"

Draco swallowed and looked at the floor, nodding. He was standing somewhere in Malfoy Manor, Harry thought, from the color of the walls, but he had no idea where. He couldn't help the shudder that rippled up and down his spine, and he wanted to clench his fists. Draco had suffered, and had chosen to show his suffering to the class.

Of course, from the stiff way that Draco held his neck to prevent himself from turning his head if nothing else, Harry knew who his real targets in the classroom were. He didn't know if the Slytherins would permit themselves to understand the message. But that wasn't his concern. He massaged Draco's shoulders and was silent.

"Showing off your pasts!" Flitwick said, his voice shattering what had come to seem almost like a private moment to Harry. He clapped his hands and bustled forwards, standing to one side of the seeming tapestry so that he could look at the memories. "And with such clarity, too." He glanced at Draco, compassion in the lines of his face. Harry wondered if it would help Draco to talk to him.

Then he nodded to Harry. "And yours, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid that I don't, er, recognize it as immediately as I do Mr. Malfoy's…"

"On my way into the Forest on the evening of the battle," Harry said, and smiled at him. "But I thought showing Voldemort might panic some people, so I didn't."

Flitwick blinked, and then said, "Ah, yes. A good choice, Mr. Potter." He looked again at the trees, as though he didn't know what might appear next, and then clapped his hands and smiled at them. "Full marks, boys. Really most impressive."

Harry squeezed Draco's shoulder down low on the blade, where no one much would see him do it, and then turned back to his seat. Draco followed him with his head lowered. Harry wondered if he was regretting showing that memory to everyone instead of the couple of people it was really directed to, and tried to whisper to him when they sat back down, but Draco turned his head and focused on the Slytherins.

Harry did, too, under the disguise of bending down so that he could pick up the quill he'd dropped. He saw Zabini sitting with his head turned away, rejection in every line of his body, and Greengrass fixated on her own quill, which she was twiddling between her fingers. They were sitting in a way that made it hard for Harry to get a glimpse of the expressions the others wore.

Except Goyle. He was utterly transfixed, and he was staring at Draco like he'd never seen him before. Then he saw Harry looking and jerked his eyes away. His hand closed into a fist for a moment, and he sighed.

Draco had seen it, too. Harry heard him echo the sigh, and his hand relaxed on top of the table. Harry stroked it, and then began to separate the fingers, patiently, until Draco noticed and took his hand away again.

As Flitwick called on the next group ready to perform the Triad Charm, Harry relaxed back in his seat. There seemed to be some hope of Draco getting his friends back after all. And frankly, if they didn't all come back, Harry thought Zabini, at least, was no great loss.

But that was the sort of thing that his summer had taught him not to say.

* * *

"I think that you could go and rouse Draco out of sleep once in a while," Harry hissed at Snape's owl, as it settled on his headboard and stared at him. "I was just getting used to _sleeping _at night again."

The owl gave him a long, slow stare that was even better than McGonagall's at making him feel stupid, and Harry's face burned when he remembered that Draco had been sleeping in the Room of Requirement for a few weeks now. There were no windows there for the owl to get in, and Draco might have forgotten to wish for a room where owls could find him. Probably he wouldn't want to, in fact, in case his former friends took the opportunity to send him nasty tricks and hexes that way.

Harry sat up and shoved his glasses on, wishing that he could stop being so bloody reasonable all the time. It wasn't weird that Draco found him hard to deal with.

But this summer had taught him to see too much, and he had chosen to willingly help Draco and Snape. It wasn't as though someone had held a wand to his head.

The note was briefer than the last one, but still in Snape's handwriting that Harry thought he would always associate with sharp remarks over his lack of Potions knowledge.

_Come and meet me. I am near the place where you helped me rise._

_ Your contact._

Harry sighed and laid the letter down on the bed, glaring at the owl. "Like I said," he muttered, "why am _I _the one who always needs to go out to the Shrieking Shack at night? It could be Draco once in a while. He wants this potion more than I do, anyway. I only wanted it brewed because it might help him."

The owl, who had been preening the feathers in the middle of its back, paused and gave him a look that said, as far as it was concerned, Harry was the idiot for volunteering his favor to Snape like that in the first place. Then it went back to preening.

"Of course you would think that," Harry muttered, climbing out of bed and reaching for his Invisibility Cloak. "You're a _Slytherin _owl."

The owl fluffed up its feathers and turned around to excrete a pellet on his sheets. Harry did take some pleasure in waving his wand and Vanishing that before he picked up his Cloak and sneaked out of his bedroom.

He had to freeze several times when going along the corridors because of patrolling professors, and once Klein went past and glanced around as though smelling him, which made Harry press against the wall with his heart beating frantically. She would be much harder than the others if she caught him out without his Tracking Charm, breaking his promise to the Aurors.

But in the end she was gone, too, and Harry stepped out onto the dim grass beneath the dim moonlight. He would need to visit the wolfwere tonight, he thought. Another person he had decided to help, and he was paying the price for it in obligations and broken sleep.

_No, that's wrong, _he decided as he trotted towards the Whomping Willow, and conjured a ball of twisted twigs and grass to throw at the knot on its trunk. _It's not as though anyone forced me to help him, either._

But…

It was possible that he didn't need to go around picking up new people to help. Perhaps he could let Draco do some things on his own. And after this potion, he and Snape would be even and shouldn't need each other anymore, either.

"Potter."

Harry jerked to a stop and wondered for a moment how Snape had seen him, and why he was outside the Shrieking Shack instead of inside it. Then, as the dark shape split away from the trees, Harry remembered that the note had said only that he would be _near _the place where Harry had helped him rise, and shook his head.

And if he had come back from death with a few new abilities, why shouldn't seeing through Invisibility Cloaks be one of them?

"Sir," Harry said, pulling the Cloak off over his head. "You have the potion brewed?"

"All except one last step," Snape said, and then stood there staring at him. The hard breeze tugged at his hair, and a few drops of rain fell on his head. Harry grimaced and cast an Impervious Charm to fend it off. There were people—like Hermione, he knew—who would say that was an irresponsible use of magic, but he didn't want to go back to his bed leaving little puddles of water in the corridors, either.

"Well, what's the last step?" Harry prompted at last, when he had decided that Snape wasn't going to say anything on his own, God knew why. "Something you need my help with? I can break into Slughorn's stores, if you want. It's long enough now since someone did that he's stopped guarding them quite so hard." And he knew he could take the simple wards around the supply cupboard apart even if Slughorn was still paranoid, but he thought Snape would say it was bragging if he said that.

"I came to ask," Snape said, his voice low, "if you are _sure _that you want to use the favor I owe you on this potion."

"Yes, and yes, and yes," Harry said promptly. "I don't need to think about it. I can't think of any other potion that I'm likely to need, and I know that this would make a lot of difference to Draco, if only to settle what he dreads."

Snape half-shook his head. "You do not know what potions you might need in the future."

"But I don't know that you'll always be in a position to help me, either," Harry pointed out. "Maybe you would leave Britain, or not have the time to drop all your commissions and brew me a potion immediately when I needed it. It's better for me to use what's in front of me and find someone else to help me later, not hold back on this because, well, I _might _need a Potions master like you in the future."

Snape was still for so long that Harry started to think he would refuse simply to be a jerk and march off into the distance. Then he said, "I had not realized that you were so…committed to Mr. Malfoy."

"More committed to him than I think he is to me," Harry said, and gave Snape an embarrassed smile. "And this probably isn't the kind of thing you want to hear about, sorry. But it's true. I like him enough, I value him enough, that I want to encourage him, and it would mean a lot to him—it would calm him down and let him focus on other things—if he could know that his father is still in prison. Or out of it."

Snape continued to watch him. Harry held his eyes, and wondered what was going through Snape's head. Was he still acting as the Head of Slytherin in some ways, and questioning in his own mind whether Harry was worthy enough to date a member of his House? Or did he have more affection for Draco than he pretended to, and he wanted to make sure that Harry was really that devoted?

"Lily's child," Snape murmured at last.

Harry nearly looked over his shoulder to see if Snape was talking about someone else, but his knowledge of Snape's memories and how he had spoken in the past prevented him from doing that. Snape would say the most _scathing _things. "Yeah?" he asked quietly.

"You are more your mother's son than I knew," Snape said. "I had suspected it when you were willing to sacrifice your life to save the world, but even that could have been Dumbledore's training, his expectations. But you helped me return to life, and you are doing all this for Draco, sacrificing something that could be valuable, when he can do nothing so worthy in return."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, but it was fairly hard. "Why talk like that?" he asked. "Draco is a human being, just like me. He made a stupid mistake, sure, but at least he's managed to restore his friends' memories now and end the danger that they'll go insane. The rest of the atonement he can make has to be left up to time. People keep talking—you and the other Slytherins, and even McGonagall sometimes—like he's so far _beneath _me that I shouldn't even look at him. It's stupid."

Snape spent a little more time watching him. Then he reached down to his side, where a fat leather bag hung. Harry stiffened and gripped his wand before he could stop himself, but Snape only took out something and held it out to him. Harry still carefully watched his hands as he moved towards him. Long experience during the war had made him aware of how fast some wizards could move their arms when they wanted to.

What Snape gave him was a single, smooth glass vial, with a potion inside that shone like moonlight. Harry stared at it, and then up at Snape. "This is the potion that will let us see through the walls of Azkaban," he said.

Snape inclined his head. "You will drink half and Draco will drink half if you wish to share the vision," he said. "And you should, as Draco's perceptions and hopes might make him mistake what it shows him."

Harry shook his head, at a loss. "You had this, and you held it back? You asked me all those questions even though you already had the potion brewed? _Why?_ What would you have done if I said that I wanted the favor for myself after all?"

"Taken the potion away and destroyed it," Snape said calmly. "Then owled the instructions for making it to Draco anonymously."

Harry just shook his head again, and went on staring until Snape gave a long sigh that seemed to have all the weariness of the world in it. "Harry," he said. "I called on you for help because I thought that your sense of honor and _goodness_—" he grimaced as if he was allergic to the word "—would compel you to help me, and other considerations could wait. I did not expect you to extend the consideration you showed me to Draco, and I did not expect you be as much help as you were. I thought you would gather ingredients for me only. In the end, you did more than that, and that means a debt is owed. More than the debts that connected us during the war, and which you fulfilled by sacrificing your life and which I fulfilled by nearly dying. But since then, there are new ones between us. No one has done for me what you did, do you understand? Helping me simply because they believed they should. No one but Lily."

Harry didn't look away from Snape's eyes. He had the sensation that if he did, that would break the spell that lingered between them, and a moment like this would never come again. "So you kept testing me to see if I would turn out to be evil and Gryffindor after all," he murmured.

Snape grimaced and half-bowed his head. "Indeed. I thought there had to be a catch to such selfless generosity, even if you yourself did not see it at first. I discovered quickly that that was—not the case. You were capable of forgiving former enemies."

Harry shrugged. "I—I'm not as selfless as you're making me out to be. I do want Draco to date me, and I did want this potion from you."

"But you are not what I thought you were, either." Snape turned his head to the side, as if he was incapable of meeting Harry's eyes for the next words he had to speak. "And I was so sure that my assumptions were the right ones, anything that proves them wrong is shattering."

Harry thought the most respectful thing he could do was stand there quietly. Snape's hands twisted together as though he was expecting some interjection, but Harry waited, and finally Snape's shoulders lowered and he nodded.

"This is the end of the debts between us," he said. "I _need _not provide anything else to you."

"I know," Harry agreed. "I hope that you can go somewhere else and have a good life." It was a stupid wish, and he knew it from the way that Snape's lip curled, but it was the best one he could think of on short notice, and at least one that he sincerely meant.

Snape looked at him for a few minutes more, perhaps giving him one more chance to prove that he was a childish Gryffindor, and then turned and vanished into the Forest. Harry cast a few more Unbreakable Charms on the vial, although he could feel that it had plenty of them already. Still, it would have to ride back to Gryffindor Tower in his pocket, and he didn't want to take the chance that it would shatter.

When he turned away, it was to forge into the Forbidden Forest and seek out the wolfwere.

* * *

The wolfwere came to him in animal form, springing out from behind the dark trees and landing in front of Harry as he stepped into the clearing with the pool. Harry stood still, not sure that this was the wolfwere and not an ordinary wolf until it transformed. At once he was on hands and knees a few inches away from Harry, golden eyes staring into his soul.

"You have learned something," he said.

Harry nodded. "I have a potion that will let me see the location of one who _could _have harmed your pups," he said. "At the moment, we know the face that man is wearing, but we're not sure if it's his real face or a false one."

The wolfwere scraped his curled fingers against the earth. "You went once to try and strip the false face from him," he said. "And you did not succeed. When will you find the killer?"

"When I find him," Harry said. "And I will, I promise, no matter how long it takes me."

The wolfwere sat back on his haunches and stared at Harry some more. Then he said, "The werewolf is dead, and you cannot bring me his body."

Harry shook his head. "I tried every way I could think of to ask, but they won't release a piece to me. And if I went and found it and stole one, the Ministry would immediately know what I'd done. They would prevent me from coming back to help you," he added, because the wolfwere watched him as though not understanding why that should be a problem. And why should he? It was up to Harry to explain why.

The wolfwere spent a few more minutes scraping in the dirt and pebbles, then said, "I may have something that will help you. Bide." And he turned and sprang into the darkness.

Harry leaned back against a tree and listened to the sounds of the Forest for a moment. He was wondering gloomily if he could ever find a way to help the wolfwere, but then he remembered the vial in his pocket and patted the glass through the cloth of his robes. He had solved one problem, incredible as it seemed. He would hope with this one, too.

Soft, pattering noises announced the wolfwere's return. He came around the large tree and leaped across the pool to land at Harry's feet.

In his mouth was a severed human hand.


	30. Blood Magic

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirty—Blood Magic_

Harry sat down on a log and blinked hard at the hand. Then he looked into the wolfwere's eyes and said quietly, "Where did you get this?"

The wolfwere placed the hand gently on the dirt in front of him and looked up at him with piercing eyes that Harry winced away from in spite of himself. "You think I killed someone," he said, and paused to lick blood from his teeth. "You do not trust me to bring you a piece of a human that is discarded, and can help you."

"I still want to know whose it is," Harry said, and tried to find a way to explain as the wolfwere watched him with polite incomprehension. "For the same reason that you wanted to sniff the bodies of your pups," he finally added.

The wolfwere paused, and then stepped back in one fluid movement. "I wanted to smell their death," he said. "I knew they were not coming back when I saw them. And I can assure you that this human is not, either."

Harry swallowed, and tried not to feel disgusted—

But why not? He had the right to feel that way, if he wanted to, as long as he didn't let it keep him from helping the wolfwere. Draco would probably say that he was going too far in his selflessness if he wanted to change his emotions for someone else, and he would, probably, be right.

Harry bowed his head and said, "But I wish to make sure that I can mourn that person properly. It would help if I knew who they were so that I can understand the magic I am using better, you see."

The wolfwere paused and then scratched at his ear with one hand, in a gesture that was more human than lupine. "Very well. He was one of the people who hid in the Forest, the ones you hunted, but he had left them before you captured the rest. He came back two nights ago, and he tried to attack me when I confronted him and asked for information."

"You killed him?" Harry asked.

The wolfwere looked at him, and didn't answer.

"I don't—I won't hurt you if you did," Harry said, and managed to calm down his breathing and even hope that he looked slightly bored. "I just want to know who it was. It'll make the magic so much easier."

"He carried this," the wolfwere said, and reached up to his neck, feeling for something in the thick fur. He pulled out a dirtied silver tag, which Harry nearly flinched from before remembering that wolfweres were different from werewolves and might not be affected by silver. He picked it up and turned it around. On one side was the Dark Mark. Harry thought the Death Eater's name would be on the other side.

Instead, there was a harp, a sharp-looking instrument like the one that he had seen Parkinson cutting her hands on the night that he and Draco went to the encampment in the Forest of Dean. He swallowed back the excitement that wanted to curl through him and handed the tag back to the wolfwere.

"All right," he said. "At least I know where he comes from. Now. How do you think this hand can help me in my magic?"

He tried not to feel queasy as the wolfwere turned the hand over. The wrist was a gnawed mess, with bones sticking out of it and the ends of them covered with blood, but Harry did his best to look away from them and just stare at the fingers. And the lines on the palm, which the wolfwere rested his own shaggy fingers on a moment later.

"These are the lines that see," the wolfwere said, staring at him. "You can trace back the course of his life down them. You can find out where he came from."

Harry blinked. "Divination? I've never been good at Divination."

The wolfwere twisted his ears at Harry. "I do not know that word." A growl in the back of his voice suggested that he should, though, and that Harry should rectify the problem immediately before the wolfwere decided to take up the matter.

Harry swallowed hastily. "Sorry," he muttered. "Divination is the art of seeing the future. The centaurs are good at it. I studied it in school, but I never saw anything, and I never heard a true prophecy except once."

The wolfwere settled back on his haunches and panted in what looked like genuine enthusiasm. "That doesn't matter, then," he said, his voice a little blurred as his tongue caught on his teeth. "This is seeing the past, and not the future. You don't have to be good at—Divination—for that."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, realized that he didn't actually have any argument that would contradict what the wolfwere had said, and then shut it again. "All right," he said, picking up the hand and trying to convince himself to think of it as a fake from a costume or something. "What kind of spell do I need to cast?"

The wolfwere leaned forwards until Harry thought he would lose his grip and tumble into Harry. "You need to find that out."

"All right," Harry said, holding up one hand in a placating gesture that just made the wolfwere consider his palm and fingers in turn. He pulled it back and stood, shaking his head. It was so hard to remember, sometimes, that the wolfwere wouldn't understand human gestures that would be second nature to most of the people Harry interacted with. "I'll find something out and come back to you before the next time the moon changes."

"And then I shall know who killed my pups," the wolfwere said, and turned and bounded into the Forest without another word.

Harry grimaced and cast a spell that would create a small carrying bag. He couldn't stand holding the severed hand for long. He would have to go back to Gryffindor Tower and wash _his _hands thoroughly.

But there was a throb of excitement in the bottom of his stomach nonetheless. This might be useful in figuring out what the Death Eaters had been doing in that camp—especially if the potion Snape had brewed told them that Lucius wasn't in Azkaban, but nothing else.

* * *

"You have it."

Draco's eyes glittered as though with fever, and he had tugged Harry into the classroom where Firenze used to teach. Harry set his back against the wall and nodded. Draco darted his gaze over Harry as though searching for signs of a potions vial, then looked back up at him.

"Well?" he demanded. "Where is it?"

"Right here," Harry said, and took the vial out of his pocket. He supposed he felt a little hurt that Draco only cared about the potion, and nothing else, but then again, this was the potion that might tell him what the fuck was going on with his father. It wasn't surprising that he cared about it and not much else right now.

Draco held the potion up to his eyes and stared at it for a second as though, just by looking, he could tell what Snape had made it out of. Harry opened his mouth to ask if he could, but then Draco uncorked the vial and tossed the potion towards his mouth.

Harry created a _Protego _before he even thought about it, shielding Draco's mouth from the potion, and then Levitated the liquid before it could touch the floor. Draco stared at him, mouth open in what looked like a shriek, but Harry glared at him.

Draco struggled for a moment between the shriek and, Harry thought, asking in a more reasonable manner. Then he said, "Tell me why."

"Snape said that we should each drink half the potion," Harry said. He thought about telling Draco Snape's reasoning behind that, but he saw no reason to, not right now. It would only hurt Draco's feelings. "You looked like you were about to drink the whole thing."

Draco massaged his forehead for a moment with one hand, and then nodded abruptly. "You're right. I was. Sorry." He focused on the potion, shaking his head. "Professor Snape would scold me for not asking about the safety instructions for a new potion," he murmured.

Harry dared to smile. "I'm sure he never thought that he would be the one telling me what they are, or _I _would be the one telling _you_, not in a million years."

"Sometimes I wonder," Draco said, and glanced at him thoughtfully. "Sometimes I caught him watching you with this weird expression, as if he didn't understand you and he'd kill anyone who forced him to try."

Harry thought about his mum, and the way that Snape had reacted in those memories he gave Harry when Dumbledore had told him Harry had to die, but he just shrugged. There were some things he wouldn't do for Draco, yes, and confessing Snape's secrets was another of them. "He was weird about that sometimes," he said. "All right. So. Do you want to drink the potion now, or do you want to wait?"

"Professor Snape said nothing about how long it would last, or what the side-effects might be?" Draco's eyes were locked on the potion now with a slightly different light in them, as if he was contemplating what might happen if it made them writhe on the floor in convulsions or lasted a whole hour.

Harry shook his head. "Just that it would work best if we each took half, and that both of us would see the vision."

Draco glanced up abruptly. Something in Harry's voice must have revealed him, because Draco was scanning his face and nodding. "That's the reason he told you to take it that way, isn't it?" he whispered. "Because he's afraid of what might happen if I went into the vision by myself."

_Well, it seems I confessed one secret without even meaning to. _Harry lifted his left shoulder in a shrug. "He was afraid of what you might see," he said. "That it might not be real, the same way you were wrong about being able to use that spell to pull off the glamour of your father's face in the Death Eater camp."

Draco leaned towards him, calm and cold and furious in a way that Harry had rarely seen since Draco had told him about torturing Blaise. "I used that spell _perfectly_," he said. "I don't know what happened to foil it."

"It could have been your father," Harry suggested, and swished the potion around in its vial. "That's why we're going to take this in the first place, remember?"

_Now _Draco looked as if he didn't care about the potion, even flicking a hand as if he wanted Harry to toss it aside. "Snape doesn't trust me," he said. "And you don't trust me to take it alone."

"Well," Harry said, and tried to think of words that would soften the one he was about to say. In the end, he couldn't, so he shrugged again and said, "No."

"Why the fuck not?" Draco's voice was rising, and Harry cast a Silencing Charm at the door of the classroom with his wand behind his back. "I showed that I'm capable and mature enough to take that fucked-up charm off my friends. We can do the Triad Charm together. You trust me—you're bloody in _love _with me! So why won't you trust me with this?"

"Because you're not sane when it comes to your family," Harry said. Bluntness it would be, then. "You chose to risk your life because you were so sure it wasn't your father in the Forest of Dean, and my life, too. Professor Snape thinks that you might see the truth with the potion and then twist it around to suit your own ends."

Draco paused, and his eyes met Harry's. Then he lunged forwards and seized him by the shoulders, shaking him and pressing him backwards at the same time.

Harry went with it, but he had one hand on his wand. The minute Draco tried to do something like punching him or cursing him, then Harry would use it. For now, he was more puzzled than angry. He didn't know why this, of all things, should set Draco off.

Draco finally slammed Harry's back against the wall and held him there, all but growling into his face. "You _think _that I wanted to risk my life and yours? That I would have _chosen _to do it that way? I thought I knew what I was doing! I brought the artifacts from the Blacks and planned everything! I just didn't expect the spell not to work. That was all. That was the only thing I did _wrong_. And if I haven't groveled to you enough for saving my life then, you bloody well should have _asked _me to grovel some more—"

Harry got hold of Draco's wrists, because Draco was reaching up as if he would choke Harry, and shook his head. "You've got it wrong," he said, as soothingly as he could when Draco's face was completely red and he looked almost ready to cry. "I promise, I don't think that you should grovel. But you didn't plan everything. You obviously expected the spell to work and didn't have the slightest idea of what to do when it didn't. That's what makes me think it was dangerous, Draco. You slumped there and I had to carry you out, and you didn't do anything to help yourself."

"And why do you think that was?" Draco's eyes were narrowed, his mouth a small, grim line in the center of his face.

Harry paused and eyed him. Draco stared back, his hands flexing open and shut on Harry's shoulders now. At least he hadn't actually tried to strangle Harry again.

"Because it never occurred to you that the spell might go wrong?" Harry asked. "I already said that."

Draco shook his head. "Why do you think I just went passive like that? At least I could have jumped up screaming like a banshee and got us out of there on sheer rage. Or terror. Why did I fold up like a limp little rag instead?"

Harry sighed and pushed his glasses up his face with one finger. He knew what he had to say, what he really believed, but Draco wasn't going to like it.

Draco seemed to sense what he was thinking, and gave him another little shake. "Don't think about how you're going to be diplomatic," he snapped. "In fact, I would prefer it if you didn't. Just—_tell _me, why do you think I did that?"

Harry nodded. "Partially for the reasons I already gave, that you never really considered it could be your father or someone else who had the means of resisting the spell. And partially because—you got used to being helpless over the summer. You thought nothing could help your friends' minds after you cast that Memory Charm on them. You didn't trust my help at all, and you were sure that I would leave you to rot after you told me the truth about torturing Blaise. At every setback, you were ready to give up if your first plan failed. Remember all those times that you almost flung the books on Memory Charms at my head? Remember the way that you expected me to walk away from you? You've forgotten how to _fight_."

Silence. Draco's face turned redder. He leaned near until his nose was a few inches away from Harry's and said, "I could give you a _demonstration _that would convince you sure enough that I hadn't."

Harry braced himself against the rocking and shaking of Draco's hands and shook his head. "Not against me. Against circumstances. And I think you're better now than you were when we went into the Forest of Dean. I really thought you would fall apart there. But here, you pushed yourself into finding the solution to your friends' problems, on your own." He found Draco's hand and tentatively squeezed it. "I'm proud of you."

Draco went back to staring at him, apparently on the pretext that he didn't know what else to do, so it might as well be that. Then he shook his head impatiently and moved backwards, away from Harry, leaving him to slump and rub his shoulders and his throat.

"I'm not helpless," he whispered. "And we're going to use the potion and find out what happened to my father, if he's still in Azkaban or not."

"Yes, we are," Harry said, and reached out so that he could squeeze Draco's arm again. Draco avoided him without seeming to do so. Harry sighed. Well, he had _thought _that Draco might be more pissed about this argument than the other ones they'd had in the past. "And I think we're already missing Defense. Did you want to go ahead and use the potion now?"

Draco glanced back at him, the turn of his head quick, hawk-like. "You would volunteer to irritate Klein to please _me_?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No need to sound so surprised. I think I've already shown that I can irritate her to the point of threatening me in order to please you."

"It's still nice to be reminded," Draco said, his head bowed and his voice muffled as he picked at his robes. "Did Professor Snape tell you anything about the effects of the potion?"

"No," Harry said. "Only the draught we should each take, and his promise that it would work the way he said it would."

Draco wavered back and forth for a few minutes more. Then he held out the potions vial to Harry.

Harry accepted it with a smile, understanding the silent apology that Draco was offering at the same time. Draco would let Harry choose when he had drunk half and when to stop. If Harry wanted to, he might very well tip out the whole potion on the floor, or swallow it all.

But Harry didn't. He sipped carefully at the vial, noting that the potion had a sharp coolness like cold water against his teeth but otherwise didn't taste of anything at all, and drained it until he thought half was gone. Then he held it out to Draco. Draco swallowed it far more hastily, his face turning red as he gulped.

Already, Harry's sight was wavering and blurring. He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, and half-closed his eyes. Draco knelt down beside him, his head bowed and his face turning redder as he heaved and gasped. Harry worried for a moment that he really would vomit it up or something.

But Draco hadn't by the time he closed his eyes and reached out to grip Harry's elbow as if to keep himself from falling to the floor. Harry reminded himself it probably only _was _that, rather than Draco reaching for him for support, but he was smiling anyway as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

There was the school, Hogwarts, already small and falling farther away beneath them, as if sights their eyes saw every day weren't enough for this potion. Harry felt his stomach cramp and twist as they sailed up and up. He had ridden higher and faster on a broom, true, but there, he had trust in his own skill, and he knew he could land whenever he wanted to. He had no idea what the potion might do to them.

_Courage._

That was Draco, whispering in his ear, and torn between his wonder that they could hear each other this way and that Draco, of all people, should have to tell him that, Harry forgot to be frightened. He looked down again, wondering if their new sight would carry them to Azkaban automatically or if he and Draco would have to direct the flight.

It seemed it would be the first. Long grey miles blurred away beneath them, effortlessly, and Harry caught a glimpse of distant stone walls. For a moment, wards confronted them, dancing white lines of spark and light, and Harry flinched and ducked his head away instinctively, wishing he could cover his face.

Then the wards were past, and they were floating down towards a series of rooms and tunnels beneath the stone bulk of the prison. Next to him, Draco was making a kind of keening noise, very quietly, and Harry reached out without thinking. There was no physical sensation of contact here, but Draco seemed to draw some comfort anyway; Harry felt a ripple travel through him that was like Draco blinking, and then he stopped making the small noise.

Then they were out of the greyness altogether and charging through lit dimness. Harry had no idea if Azkaban was less dark than he had always assumed or if the potion was creating the lights for them, and he didn't care. He pressed eagerly forwards instead, wishing they could go faster, wondering when they would arrive at Lucius's cell.

They swept around a corner and rose and fell for a moment like birds on the wind, apparently confronting one last ward. Then their flight halted in front of a set of bars, and Harry turned and peered past them.

There was Lucius.

For a moment. Then he seemed to flicker, the way that Harry had once seen a bad Muggle movie do, and there was no one there at all. Then he was present again, sitting on a hard stone chair in the corner of the cell, his head bent and his face marked with dirt and weariness. Then he was gone again.

Harry stared, wondering if there was a spell that would allow someone to escape their cell from one moment to another, or if this was a glamour that was meant to conceal Lucius's flight from Azkaban. He could feel Draco tightening up beside him, and turned his head, trying to seek him out.

The gesture apparently exhausted the potion. Harry found himself opening his eyes to Firenze's classroom again, more shaken and confused than before.

Draco said nothing. Harry turned to him, ready to console him on their not having a solid answer despite the potion.

But Draco's face was set in a way that it might have been if they _had _gained answers. And then he stared at Harry and said simply, "She did it. She really did it."

"Who?" Harry asked, wondering if he was talking about Parkinson, if she would have tried to curse Draco's father in addition to Harry.

"There's a spell," Draco whispered. "It _mingles _people. It allows two people to have the same existence, the same life, and so they can be in two places at once. Suffering can be split, and they can exchange places whenever they want. Unfortunately, it also drives the people who use it mad, but she wouldn't be thinking that was a real price, would she?"

"Who?" Harry asked, leaning forwards to put a hand on Draco's knee, and hopefully inspire Draco to look at him at the same time.

"My mother," Draco whispered.

And suddenly, although Harry didn't know every explanation of the situation yet, he thought he understood.


	31. Confusing Magic

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirty-One—Confusing Magic_

"Explain the spell again, Draco."

Draco took a fortifying sip of the tea that Harry had sneaked into the kitchen to get him, and then leaned back against the wall of Firenze's classroom again. He looked pale enough that Harry wished he had something stronger to slip into the tea. Of course, the house-elves wouldn't give him Firewhisky, and he wasn't sure that it was the best thing for someone in Draco's state of mind, anyway. He cast another spell to warm up the tea and made it strong enough that Draco almost dropped the cup in shock. He gave Harry a wan smile and nodded.

"I have to talk about it," he whispered. "I know what they're doing, but I expect it's probably confusing for _you_ to try and understand it."

Harry bit his tongue so that he wouldn't snap something about confusion and Draco's casual assumptions about his intelligence, and just said, "Yeah," instead.

Draco sat up. He was shaking off this shock a lot faster than he had the shock of seeing his father in the Forest of Dean, Harry thought, even though this was probably the more severe one. He had a serene look on his face, in fact, and even if that _was _the result of him conquering some strong emotion, Harry was impressed.

_He's stronger than he was. Maybe shaking off some of his desperation and solving one problem did that for him._

"All right," Draco said. "This spell—it melds people together. They're no longer two separate individuals, not once somebody's cast it. My mother and father might still have two minds, it would depend on how mad they are, but they have one body. It's just that the body can be in two places at once."

Harry blinked, and blinked again. Then he said, "So…at one and the same time, your father is in Azkaban, and out in the Forest of Dean."

Draco nodded and looked at him with his head on one side, as if he was being forced to change his perception of Harry. "Exactly. You grasped it faster than I thought you would." Then he sighed and bowed his head. "I'm not sure which mind is where. I think my mother might be the Lucius who volunteered to stay in prison, because that's the only reason she would have cast the spell in the first place. She wanted to spare Father suffering. She always did," he whispered, and there was a thready whine in the back of his voice.

Harry, not knowing what else to say, reached out and grasped Draco's shoulder in sympathy.

"So," Draco said, when he went on with another little gasp, "she'll be the one there, and he'll be the one who's out running around and causing trouble. He probably wanted his freedom so much that he never considered the price, or asked her exactly which spell it was."

Harry frowned. "He wouldn't have known?" Lucius Malfoy didn't strike him as someone ignorant about the Dark Arts, even if he would never say that to Draco for fear of distressing him.

"He wouldn't _let _himself know," Draco snapped. "Think about if someone loved you enough to sacrifice themselves for you, Potter—"

"Someone did," Harry said softly, thinking about his mum.

Draco paused, a shadow passing across his face, and then nodded choppily. "All right. Fine. Imagine that you had been old enough to understand what was happening and know that it was either you or her. She _could _have stepped aside and had the Dark Lord spare her life; someone mentioned that to me, I think it was Aunt Bella, who was awed that he would show such favor to _anyone_. But she chooses to sacrifice herself to save you instead. Would you let yourself know that, if you were older? Would you let yourself think about that? Or would you prefer to think that she had died fighting, or some other explanation?"

Harry just nodded, and didn't comment. He could understand what Draco was getting at, and why it would be important for his father to believe something else. Harry himself didn't really understand the impulse, that was all. He would always want to know the truth.

"So my father accepted the spell, and the sacrifice," Draco said, staring at the far wall again, through the rising steam of his tea. "Two minds, two versions of the same body. It's why he rippled in the Forest when I cast the spell at him. His appearance isn't the one he used to have, because the melding is a hard process, so my spell did try to take care of it. But it wasn't a glamour, either, and it really was him, just a little different-looking, so the spell failed in the end."

Harry nodded again, and started to speak, but Draco turned and looked at him, a world of sadness in his grey eyes.

"My mother loved him enough to sacrifice herself for _him_," he whispered, "but she didn't love me enough to stay free."

Harry winced, and couldn't think of a thing to say. He wondered if his father would have thought the same way if he had survived the night Voldemort attacked, only to learn that Lily had sacrificed herself for Harry, and then dismissed the idea. His father had died fighting for the both of them.

Then again, his parents had been a lot younger than Draco's parents when they died. Maybe that would have changed as they got older. Harry felt a slight tremor of sadness that he wouldn't ever know.

Instead, he leaned forwards and said, "Is there any reason to think you can get her back? Break this spell, get her to separate from your father and become her own person again—anything?"

Draco's eyes had shut, and he had slumped back against the wall, breathing in and out slowly, carefully, as if he thought he would lose control if it went faster. His voice was dull. "Nothing I've ever heard of. Besides, would she thank me for pulling her away from my father? I'm not sure of that. If she really wants to be with him, enough to give up her mind and her identity and her memories and her body, she probably never intended to go back."

"I wish she would have sent you an owl, at least," Harry whispered, thinking about it. "Maybe she thought you would try to stop her if she did."

"Of _course _I would have tried to bloody stop her!" Draco looked at Harry as if he were mad. "There's no reason—there _was _no reason for her to do this. Father had a prison sentence, yes, but some of the Wizengamot owed him political favors. Not important enough ones to get him out of this mess forever, but enough that we could have pulled him out of the prison eventually, given time. The last time I wrote to her, I mentioned that. But there was no answer." Draco's mouth pulled sharply downwards. "She might already have cast the spell by that time. Sacrificed _everything _to give him a second body. And not even one that can be outside the prison all the time, because they knew the outcry that would raise. One of him has to stay there."

"Why did we see his body flickering when we took the potion?" Harry thought to ask. "Is it because the body or mind that's in the prison isn't the original one?" It was still hard to think about that, to think about one mind split two ways, because if Narcissa had given up everything there wouldn't be anything of her left in the second Lucius body. Of course, that was probably why the spell drove people mad.

Draco gave him a thin smile that had so many shadows clustered in it Harry had to look away. "Why, very good, Potter. Yes, the potion revealed the spell to us in the first place, but made the body flicker to show it was under the spell. And it's more than likely that it's my mother in there." He gave a sudden, violent shiver, half-wrapping his arms around himself. "I wish we could go and see her," he whispered. "Well. Him. The person she is now. Even though I know she wouldn't remember me the way she used to."

"We can go," Harry said, thinking about it, the burst of adrenaline through his veins making him reckless. "What's to stop us from doing it? We'll go tonight!"

Draco stared at him, his lips parted. Then he snorted and shook his head. "Are you listening to yourself, Potter?" he asked sharply. "Of course we can't go. There are a thousand school regulations that say so, and they won't allow someone who's still a student at Hogwarts to visit Azkaban without a professor along. I learned that when I applied for permission to see my father over the summer, after I'd already been accepted back."

"They won't allow most students," Harry said, watching him intently. "But they'll allow the Boy-Who-Lived."

For a moment, Draco's mouth pulled sharply downwards again. Then he smiled, and there was the dangerous diamond glitter about it that Harry had seen in third year when Draco was pretending Buckbeak had hurt him worse than he really had. This time, Harry fervently hoped, that glitter was on his side.

"Father would have told me, when he was in his right mind, to take advantage of powerful political contacts," Draco murmured. "Yes. Why not?"

Harry nodded, and stood up. He waited until Draco was standing up, too, and then reached out and gripped his hands. Draco watched him warily, his head on one side, as though he assumed Harry would change his mind any second and try to talk him out of this. Harry didn't see why, when he was the one who had proposed this, but relentless questioning wouldn't help Draco right now.

"I'll get you there," Harry said. "If nothing else, I can force the thing by pretending that I'm so upset about one of my classmates being unfairly denied his rights that I'll go to the papers. But I don't know anything about your parents, and almost nothing about this spell. Once we get there, you'll have to handle things."

Draco blinked, once, twice. Then his hands closed down on Harry's, and he was the one who tugged him closer and kissed him, his mouth hot and wet and hungry. Harry went with it, but stepped back the instant Draco showed an inclination to withdraw.

"Yes," Draco said again, in answer, Harry thought, to more voices than Harry's own. "My motto should be _get out of my way._"

Harry smiled, and followed him out of the classroom.

* * *

"You want to do what?" Klein's voice was soft and angry, and she tapped her wand against her palm as she stared back and forth between Harry and Draco.

Draco stiffened his shoulders next to Harry. He wasn't shrinking, Harry thought, but he must remember that Klein was an Auror as well as a professor, and that she had the power to hurt him a lot more than she could hurt Harry.

And he had looked at Harry more than doubtfully when Harry had chosen Klein's office. Why, his eyes asked, didn't they go to McGonagall, or Flitwick, or someone else who could make the firecall for them and would be more sympathetic?

Harry had his reasons for going to Klein. And as she met his eyes, he met hers right back, and gave them to her.

"This is your chance," he said. "Your chance to get around all the roadblocks that you _know _the Azkaban guards are going to throw in your way, and gain the knowledge that you told me they wouldn't give to anyone because of their stupid power-plays. We'll find out once and for all whether Lucius Malfoy is really in Azkaban for you. That can only help your investigation."

Klein's mouth tightened for a moment. Then it relaxed, in what looked like contempt at herself more than anything else, and she shook her head. "I never should have admitted to you what I felt about the guards at Azkaban," she murmured. "You are using this as ammunition, as a weapon, when there is no reason to think you can succeed."

"I'm using it because you know that our relationship isn't the normal relationship between a student and a professor," Harry said, as politely as he could when he privately thought Klein a regular coward for not taking advantage of this the way she should have. "It couldn't be from the moment you saw me kill in the Forbidden Forest."

Klein pointed her wand at him. "And sometimes I _still _think I should have brought you into the Ministry for that."

"But you didn't." Harry stood tall and met her gaze evenly. "And are you going to regret doing it forever, or are you going to do something that could work out for you as well as us?"

Klein looked towards the door into her office, as though she assumed someone was lurking outside to report her and her thoughts to McGonagall. "I shouldn't," she murmured, even though she sounded tempted. "I could get in trouble. There's no doubt that Olversvald wouldn't like it."

"Would he, if you explained everything to him?" Harry leaned forwards and smiled as persuasively as he could. "He already knows that I'm an irregularity in the lives of the Aurors that they have to deal with."

Klein gave a short laugh. "I hope to God that you don't become an Auror, Potter. Someone is going to have to deal with you and curb your arrogance at some point, and I don't want it to have to be me."

Draco stiffened and shifted beside Harry, but Harry put a hand on his arm and shook his head slightly, so that Draco could just see it out of the corner of his eye. "Fine," he said. "I don't really care what you think of me, as long as you help us."

Silence again, and Klein watched them as she apparently did a silent calculus of her own about how much trouble she would be in. Harry stayed still, and meek, and said nothing. That was the best service he could do himself, he reckoned. Klein thought he was troublesome beyond belief; time to show her that he could be obedient sometimes, when he thought it might do him or his cause some good.

Finally, Klein sighed and nodded. "Fine. As you will. I'll take you beyond the wards into Azkaban and arrange passage out again with someone I can trust, since I don't think that I can linger there that long without arousing suspicion. What you do with your time while you're there is up to you."

Her eyes stayed on Draco this time. Harry thought she was probably hoping that Draco would trip over a stone or something and break his neck, saving everyone else the trouble of dealing with him. He met Klein's eyes and showed his teeth without smiling.

Klein only nodded to him and turned away. "Be ready to leave tonight immediately after curfew. I'll spread the story that I want to read and mark for a time and then intend to take to my bed instead of patrolling the corridors. You'll meet me near the top of the staircase that goes down to the dungeons. I trust that you can come there without alerting anyone."

Harry nodded, and stepped out of the office with Draco close behind them. Draco watched over his shoulder until Klein shut the door, and then shook his head hard enough that his chin banged into Harry.

"What is it?" Harry whispered. "Do you think we shouldn't have contacted her?"

"This is the only way, if I want to see my mother," Draco said, his voice lower and more thoughtful than Harry had expected. Draco didn't sound as afraid as Harry had anticipated. Well, being confronted with his mother's vanishing had perhaps given him a kind of bitter courage. "I know that. But what happens if she betrays us?"

"If she does it before we get out of Hogwarts, then it'll make her look as bad as it does us," Harry whispered. "A professor conspiring to transport a pair of students to Azkaban? The press would _feast _on it."

Draco smiled without much conviction. "But if she does it once we're on the island? We don't know how many friends she has there, or how far we might be able to trust them."

"I don't think we can trust them much at all," Harry had to acknowledge. "But we'll have our own plans in place just in case she thinks that's a good idea."

"What are they?" Draco asked.

Harry whispered into Draco's ear, and soon Draco's easy laugh was echoing along the corridors, startling the Slytherins who were passing. More than one of them glared at Harry and Draco, but one stopped and stepped out of the group he was walking with, towards them.

It was Goyle.

Harry hesitated, but in the end, he decided that he had to stay exactly where he was and not move, not even really to breathe. Doing anything that he didn't exactly mean to could disrupt the rapport that Harry hoped Draco and Goyle would get back, maybe forever.

"Draco," Goyle whispered.

"Gregory." Draco was trying to stand tall, his arms folded and his body hunched in a little on itself, as if he was feeling a cold wind that his cloak wouldn't keep him safe from. But his eyes were bright and full of longing, and Harry held his breath, hoping that would be enough, all by itself, to make Goyle think about being his friend again.

Zabini stepped away from the rest of the huddled Slytherins, who were watching the whole scene like mice fascinated by two snakes. He put one hand on Goyle's arm, and Harry, watching for it, saw Goyle flinch minutely away from the touch.

"Come on, Greg," Zabini said, loud and hearty and with his hand tugging on Goyle's arm even before he'd finished speaking. "You don't want to associate with _that _bastard. The rest of us have our own things to do, don't we?" He cocked his head at Draco and then looked away.

It was so _transparent _that Harry bit his lip to keep from grinning. Draco did allow a faint smile to cross his face, and then he turned and looked at Goyle.

"I'm sorry," he said clearly. "I honestly never meant to hurt you, Greg. Things got out of hand and I acted stupid for a while. But I don't _want _to. And if you're my friend, then I'll do my best never to do any of that again."

Goyle was silent and stolid, ignoring both the way Zabini tugged at him and the whispers that echoed behind him. Harry thought he was thinking, but he'd never been intimately familiar with the facial expressions of any Slytherin except Draco, so he wasn't sure. All he could do, like the rest of them, was stand and wait.

Draco had a peculiar look on his face when Harry glanced at him again. He thought Draco probably wasn't used to someone else making the decisions when it came to the Slytherins, and resented losing his position of power now. But he was wise enough not to interrupt and make Goyle back off, and that was really all Harry could hope for.

_Better than I hoped for, in fact. Draco must have the temptation to tell them all off and walk away—but no, he really does want his friends back, more than he wants to show off his pride._

Finally, Goyle said, his voice slow in a way that Harry knew wasn't just his usual thought process, "Yeah. I think—I think that I want to be your friend again, Draco." He hesitated, and then, as if afraid that that wasn't loud or forceful enough, added, "As long as you _never _do _anything _like that _again_."

Zabini tried to hiss something in Goyle's ear, but Goyle just walked away from him as if he wasn't there and held out his hand to Draco. Draco had brightness in his eyes, but he wasn't smiling—at least, not with his mouth, Harry thought. You had to know him well to see the way that his ears and the corners of his eyes and even his cheeks seemed to encourage the smile that hadn't quite formed. Zabini knew him that well, if the narrowed state of his own eyes and the stiff way that he folded his arms and turned away with an outrageous sniff was any indication.

"I can promise never to do anything like that again," Draco said seriously as he clutched at Goyle's hand. "What I did was stupid, and I never want to be stupid again. I've learned my lesson."

Goyle paused, as if listening to someone who wasn't there or at least wasn't visible to Harry, and then gave Draco a hesitant smile. "Good. Living under that curse was awful."

_And that, _Harry thought, _probably sums up what it was like better than any more elaborate statement from Zabini could._

The other Slytherins turned their backs in a solid body, and continued walking down the corridor. Neither Goyle nor Draco seemed to notice them go. They were talking, their heads close together. Harry backed away one soft step, and then another, and they didn't notice _him _going, either.

Harry turned at last and left, his face bright with _his _smile, which he wasn't even going to try and stop escaping. Hermione would scold him for missing Defense and Potions, and warn him again about NEWTS—if she wasn't too involved in her own sadness over her parents, at least. But this once, Harry didn't care.

This happiness was one that he could be happy _about, _even if he would never know exactly what either Goyle or Draco felt.

* * *

"Potter. Where is Malfoy?"

Harry swept the Invisibility Cloak off over his head and opened his mouth to answer Klein, but was saved having to admit that he didn't know when Draco's cool voice said, "Here," and he trotted up the staircase that led down to the dungeons. He did nothing but smile blandly at Klein when she glared at him.

"Come, then," Klein snapped over her shoulder, and swirled her cloak ostentatiously as she motioned towards the doors of the entrance hall. "Once we start moving, you have to make as little noise as possible. Professors have permission to pass through the wards at any time, but if I meet someone else, I'd have trouble explaining a pair of noisy shadows."

Harry motioned Draco under the Cloak and cast a Disillusionment Charm for himself. He was more used to moving under them after last year, and if someone did see him and stopped him, he was the one who would have the better explanation for being out after curfew.

_Or the better chance of casting spells that would convince someone else to back off, _Harry had to admit, as they followed Klein across the hall, out the doors, and across the silent grounds. _I don't really want to have that power, but I might as well use it, since I have it._

After a little consideration, he cast a charm that would muffle his footsteps and Draco's, too. It seemed that they both made enough noise for Klein to wince and glare at them over her shoulder no matter how quiet they tried to be.

And then there was a low growling noise in front of them, and the shadows seemed to give birth to the wolfwere, who sat down in front of them and bared his teeth in the general direction of all and sundry. He was in his half-human form, the better to speak, and utterly ignored the wand Klein pointed at him.

"I can smell the hidden ones," he said. "And I know purpose and determination when I smell it, as well. I want to come with you."


	32. Decisions At the Last

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirty-Two-Decisions At the Last_

Harry heard Draco and Klein drew in their breaths at the same time. He had the impression that both of them were thinking of the same curse to use on the wolfwere, as a matter of fact.

He rendered matters moot by standing forwards and crouching down in front of the wolfwere. However ambivalent Klein might feel towards him, he doubted she would curse him. And Draco...

Well, sometimes Harry thought he couldn't answer for how Draco felt about anything, never mind him. But he still didn't think he would curse him. Call it faith, call it trust, call it complete bloody stupidity, which Ron probably would. Harry still felt it.

"All right," he said quietly, into the wolfwere's face. "What do you imagine you can do when we get there? We're going to have enough trouble sneaking unauthorized humans into this place. You have to admit that you'll stand out, even if the guards there don't have noses as good as yours."

The wolfwere stared into his face. Harry didn't know what he'd planned from this point forwards, or what he'd planned at all, so he simply sat still and said nothing, his arms draped across his knees.

At last the wolfwere said, "There is magic that you can cast. I know the spells, in the same way that I know the one that permitted you to look afar." His tongue swept noiselessly across his jaws. "It will keep me safe and silent, and if you take me along with you to this place, where I might seek the killer of my pups, then I shall do nothing to break it."

"And you expect us to believe that?" Harry flinched automatically at Klein's words, and saw the wolfwere crouch a little closer to the earth. "After telling us how much you want to find the killer of your children, we're supposed to assume that you'll go along and be an obedient dog?"

"I do not know what some of those words mean," said the wolfwere, his gleaming eyes fixed on Klein, although Harry thought he _did, _actually, and was downplaying things so Klein would think him less of a threat. "But I will go along and stay still and silent behind you until the moment when you can find who killed them."

Harry winced and glanced up at Klein. "Wouldn't _you _want to find someone who had slaughtered your family members?" he asked. "At the very least, the wolfwere has helped us before. We owe it to him to see this through."

Klein stared at him until Harry heard Draco shifting uneasily behind them. Harry bit his lip. He was doing this for Draco's sake, really, whispered the part of his brain that had most liked the kisses and other touches he and Draco had shared, and didn't that mean that he should get on with it, if Draco wanted to?

But Harry rejected the thought a moment later. That was a part of him, sure, but an unworthy part. He was incapable of refusing the wolfwere's request for aid simply because Draco didn't like it. Another thing he wouldn't do for Draco.

"You are treating him as if he were human," Klein said at last. "Instead of a magical creature. Instead of an animal."

Harry stood up. He realized, as he did, that he was trembling, and he had moved his body, again, in between Klein and the wolfwere. The wolfwere thrust his head curiously around Harry's legs and snarled at Klein, but didn't try to stop him. Harry was glad of that. He had too many things that he wanted to say.

"_Just _a magical creature," he repeated. "That's really all you see when you look at him, isn't it? Not someone who got caught up in our battle with the Death Eaters when he didn't ask to. Not someone who's worthy of being helped just like anyone else would be who lost his family. Not someone who's offering help as well as asking for it. Because God forbid that you have to consider a magical creature equal to a human."

Klein stared at him some more. Then she said, "He is not like the centaurs, or the merfolk, who have treaties with the Ministry. Or the goblins, who have a place in our society. He is an animal, _born _an animal, who can achieve human form. That does not make him our equal."

The wolfwere's soundless growl made Harry shudder. Harry didn't make one himself, but only because the wolfwere's said everything he wanted to. It at least made Klein back up a step, her hand on her wand.

"An animal couldn't understand what you just said," Harry told her flatly. "They have different morals, or no morals at all. But the wolfwere understands vengeance, and crime, and people who don't value him. We all do. Are you going to let him come along or not?"

Maybe it was the wolfwere's eyes. Maybe it was Harry's. But after a long moment, Klein bobbed her head in a choppy nod. "As long as he's _quiet_, and doesn't attack the Azkaban guards," she snapped, and then went back to gliding ahead of them, watching out vigilantly for danger.

Harry sighed and touched the wolfwere on the back of his neck. "Would you prefer a Disillusionment Charm, like the one I'm wearing?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," said the wolfwere, staring up at him with those wild eyes. Harry wondered about some of the shadows he could see in them, but then thought of his own words to Klein, and muffled a snort. Who _wouldn't _look like that when most of their family had been murdered?

He wondered, for a moment, as he cast the spell, whether he ever wore such a look himself. Then he watched as the barely-there shadow of the wolfwere followed Klein, and glanced back to make sure Draco was still with them.

Draco had removed the Cloak from his face and was staring at Harry from a few inches away, so that his head appeared to float in midair. "What?" Harry asked, because there were shadows in _his _eyes, too.

Draco cleared his throat, swallowed loudly, and then finally said, "I didn't realize that you cared so much about someone who wasn't me."

Harry leaned forwards until his brow, with the scar, rested against Draco's clear one. Draco stared back, and whether he was afraid or fascinated or angry, he wasn't going to move.

"I don't care about him _instead of _you," Harry said. "I care about him _in addition to _you. And I do the same thing with my friends, and Snape, and the professors who are worth doing a good job for, and the memory of my parents. Understood? I would do a lot for you, Draco, but you aren't the only one I would."

Draco stared at him, utterly motionless, and made Harry wonder if he was frightening him after all, just so badly that Draco didn't dare pull away. Then he swallowed, and his hand came up and flailed around for a moment under the Cloak, until Harry found it and grasped it with his own semi-transparent one.

"Thanks," Draco whispered. "I think you needed to say that, and I needed to hear it."

Then he hurried after Klein and the wolfwere, and Harry trailed him, feeling lighter, for some reason, than he had for a long time.

* * *

The Portkeying to Azkaban-once Klein had gone through the tiresome regulations that prevented just anyone from getting their hands on one-was a crowded affair, the wolfwere pushing close against Harry's legs and Harry's hands closing in his ruff, Draco leaning against him and Klein holding Draco's arm with one hand while her other arm encircled Harry's shoulders. The first thing Harry did when they landed on the island was check to make sure they hadn't left anyone behind or Splinched anything, although to be fair, he didn't even know if Splinching was possible with Portkeys.

The second thing Harry did when they landed on the island was look up at the grey buildings, the stone and the cold of them, the waves that lashed the shore, and the gulls that wheeled crying overhead.

Actually, there were fewer gulls than he had expected. And less island, too. And a colder sea. All in all, the Ministry had chosen the most isolated and desolate place it could do for a prison. Harry grimaced. He was sure that most of that was deliberate, because they wanted to break the prisoners' spirits, and this was the kind of thing that would be effective even without Dementors.

Not that Dementors had been good, either. Harry felt a stir of revulsion at the bottom of his soul, and shook his head. The more he thought about it, the more he thought that he didn't want to work for an organization that sucked up prisoners' happiness and kept a whole squad of people just to alter Muggles' memories.

And perhaps he didn't want to allow it to go on existing without change, either. But he wasn't naive enough to think that working for the Ministry would change it. No, that would have to come from the outside and be forced onto them.

_Maybe that would be a _good _thing to use my fame for, just like I'm using it in this case to help Draco._

"Come," Klein said, snapping both Draco and Harry out of their hypnotized stares at Azkaban, and strode towards the front of the nearest building. It had heavy black iron doors with steel locks, and Harry reckoned it must be the headquarters, or the place where the guards congregated to stay out of the wind, or something. He felt the soft brush of near-invisible fur against his leg as the wolfwere followed, and he glanced back a time or two to make sure that the Cloak covered Draco all the way to the ground.

"Halt."

One of the guards stepped out to confront Klein. To Harry's eyes, the robes the man wore were a lot like Auror robes, though he was sure Klein could indignantly point out all sorts of differences. The main one that Harry could see was that these were grey, the same stone-grey as the buildings, instead of red. The man was a tall one who aimed his wand at all of them even when Klein sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Chervets, as we agreed," she said. "I've brought you visitors." She didn't move her eyes towards any of them, though, and Harry was privately impressed. If they had to scatter away from a vengeful guard, he wouldn't necessarily know where any of them had gone, or be able to track more than one.

The man spent some time looking into her face. Harry shivered from the wind, and hoped that didn't cause the borders of his Disillusionment Charm to shake in such a way that Chervets could notice. It was bloody _cold _out here, and the longer the guard looked at them, the less sure Harry was about the whole thing. It seemed as though he wanted more than what Klein had promised him, or something, at least if the way his fingers tightened on his wand were any indication.

Then Chervets snorted and jerked his head sideways. "As we agreed," he repeated, and held out his hand. Klein reached into her pocket and pulled out something that shone dazzling and mirror-like, especially in that dim place. Harry only had the chance to blink at it before Chervets had dropped it into his pocket and turned away. He didn't know what it was, although it hadn't looked like a bag of Galleons, or a diamond, or anything else potentially valuable enough to bribe an Azkaban guard.

"This is the way it works," Chervets said in a quiet, harsh voice, not looking back at them. He had a long brown beard that he stroked as if he thought it would give him good luck before he continued. "You follow behind me. If I tell you to take a step up or down, you take them. No questions. As little noise as possible. Don't break or strike out at anyone, even if you hear references to the members of your family, or your friends, or whatever, who are here. Don't expect me to help you if you get yourselves stepped on or bumped into. Keep out of the way. Understood?"

Harry nodded, and he assumed that the other two did, as well. Or perhaps the wolfwere did something other than nod. At the very least, there was no sign that he didn't understand and was going to lash out.

Chervets didn't wait for them, anyway. He began to walk forwards into the central building of the prison, one measured pace at a time. Harry glanced quickly up at Klein and found that she was frowning at him, one hand on her wand as if it was a security blanket.

"Do _exactly _as he tells you," she whispered. "I trust him to get you out of here as long as you follow his instructions, but deliberately disobey and he'll wash his hands of you. I'll see you back at Hogwarts." And then she had wheeled and was walking away herself, towards the tip of the island where they had landed in the first place. Harry thought he saw her hand rest on the Portkey.

Harry sighed and hurried ahead, after Chervets, who was walking slowly enough but hadn't stopped during Klein's farewell. He could feel the shapes of the others beside him, Draco a silky whisper against his arm and the wolfwere trotting as comfortably on all fours as Harry walked on two legs, whisking in and out between his feet. Harry concentrated on taking the stairs carefully, given that, so that he wouldn't trip over the wolfwere and make any betraying noise.

It was dangerous. He knew that. But he did have a number of plans in case Chervets betrayed them, and they would make sure that Klein wouldn't get away unscathed, either.

Right now, it was the best they could hope for.

* * *

Harry was grinding his teeth by the time they got to the bottom level of Azkaban, evidently the one where the most recent prisoners were kept. His desire to destroy the Ministry was so great that sometimes it was hard to remember what both Klein and Chervets had said, that lashing out would reveal their presence here and destroy or at least lessen their chances of getting out unseen.

Only Draco and the wolfwere really kept him grounded. Because he had more people than just himself to worry about. Otherwise, he would have been tempted to reveal himself and declare that the Boy-Who-Lived was here and was _angry._

He had never seen a place more designed to break someone.

The guards had comfortable quarters, if dark ones, in the top of the building, with fires and food and sleeping mattresses and more wizarding games on the walls and books on the shelves than Harry had expected. He had seen holes in the walls up there, which seemed to lead down to the cells, but he hadn't known what they were for. Maybe water to wash out the cells of prisoners too dangerous to open the door for, or ways to give people showers.

As they descended and he saw prisoners huddling by those holes, then he knew. They were places where they could listen to the guards laughing and talking and playing, hear casual references to their own names and crimes maybe, could hear the voices of people pleading to be allowed to visit them.

The Ministry didn't give the prisoners any comforts, plus they taunted them with knowing _exactly _what had been taken away from them, and that there was comfort somewhere on this island, if only they could have broken out of their cells and found it. Harry could see the way some of the listening prisoners' eyes were shadowed, as if they would have murdered the guards if they could have, and he absolutely didn't blame them.

It was also cold in the prison itself, with the kind of grinding chill that meant you wouldn't ever really get warm, no matter how many blankets you wrapped yourself in-and the prisoners might have one thin one, but no more than that. It was the kind of cold Harry remembered from walking to primary school in tattered clothes that were too big for him. It wasn't enough to give anyone frostbite, but it wore you down, it consumed you in making you think about getting warm instead of something else, and Harry could at least duck into a reasonably warm building after his walk. There was no change here.

There was no color, either. Harry thought that might drive him mad most quickly of all, and he wondered what it had done to Sirius (assuming the prison had looked like this when he was here, of course). Grey floors, grey walls, and dim lights buried here and there in those walls that threw cold illumination without much shadow, just enough to see the guards and the food they brought, or for a prisoner to grope their way to their sleeping pallet or the latrine in the floor.

The lower floors were worse than the upper ones, with smaller pallets and smaller cells, some so tiny they were like egg-shaped hollows in the stone. The prisoners had to sit bent over if they sat up at all. Not all of them were like that, but enough were that Harry thought he'd worn away several layers of enamel on his teeth by the time they reached the cell where Lucius, or Narcissa, was.

He was going to do something about this. Not because someone had begged him for help, but because he _wanted _to. This was _inhuman._

Only when Draco said, "Father?" in a slight whisper did Harry remember what they were here for. He shook his head and turned his attention back to what was happening in front of him. Too much focus on something else could be fatal, here.

Chervets was standing back in one corner of the corridor with his arms folded, looking bored, but not liable to betray them yet. Draco had the Cloak off his head and was staring through the bars into the cell. Harry felt the brush of fur against his side that meant the wolfwere was standing there, probably sniffing.

"Father," Draco whispered again.

Harry stepped up beside him and put his hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco gave no sign that he'd noticed. He simply continued staring straight ahead, and Harry perforce looked with him.

And was almost sick.

Lucius Malfoy sat there, and didn't sit there. It was nothing as open as the flickering of his body that told Harry so; the body _didn't _flicker here, without the potion to show him the truth. And Harry reckoned there were some prisoners in worse shape, including some they'd passed on the way down here.

But this Lucius sat with his head cocked slightly to one side, his teeth grinding, his eyes staring into nothing, his fists so tightly shut that little streams of blood had leaked downwards from his palms onto his grey robe. Chervets seemed to notice them looking and flicked his wand, once. The old stains disappeared, but Harry already knew that new ones would join them, and "Lucius" wouldn't do anything to stop them.

And although probably no one would have noticed except Draco or Harry, who had looked into Narcissa Malfoy's face when he thanked her at Lucius's trial, his eyes weren't the right color. They were a darker blue than usual, and they didn't move in the right way. Harry definitely didn't know if he would have seen it without realizing that someone else's mind was in that body, but there were all sorts of little wrong things when you did start looking.

"Step back," Draco said, turning abruptly to Chervets and lifting his chin. "I want to say something to him, and I don't want you listening."

"I promise you," Chervets said, with a little yawn and a shake of his head, "you can't say anything I haven't heard before. The whining, the pleas, the secrets, the demands...people aren't as different as they think they are, under the skin."

Harry shuddered under _his_ skin as he looked at the guard. There was another thing that could wear people down, he thought, besides the constant cold. Live here long enough with the horror, and you'd think that this was _normal_. Be an Azkaban guard, and you'd either ask for transfer out or adopt this coldness to keep yourself from going mad.

"Nevertheless," Draco said, and gave Chervets a plain, vicious smile. "Or is what Klein paid not enough for you? Because there's this." He reached into his robe, under the Cloak, and pulled out a vial of sparkling green potion, one moment invisible and the next floating in the air. Harry hoped he was the only one who heard the wolfwere's soft snarl.

Chervets didn't seem to, if only because he was so focused on the potion. He stumbled a step forwards, and then stopped. "That can't be what it looks like," he whispered.

"It is." Draco didn't look away from him. "Dreamless Sleep made with pure laudanum. I promise, it'll give you a sleep that drives _all _the nightmares away, and for only half a dose as much as the regular potion, so you can go on taking it longer."

Chervets licked his lips, then said, "You would be discovered if I left the corridor."

"Then just go up it," Draco said, and bounced the potions vial on his hand, as if he was considering dropping it and shattering it. Chervets made a strangled sound, and Draco looked at him with that vicious smile again. "Until you can't hear my voice. Believe me, I'll know if you don't."

Chervets nodded violently, and snatched the vial from Draco's hand. Then he turned and scuttled off. Harry thought he was probably going to chuckle over his prize. Harry cocked his head at Draco, who was already turning back to the cell.

"How did you know he wanted a Dreamless Sleep potion like that?" he whispered. "How did you brew it?"

"In advance, because it makes a good bribe," Draco said, without turning a hair or taking his eyes from his mother-father. "And because someone who works here as a guard would always have nightmares, it stands to reason."

Harry had to concede that made sense, but it wasn't something he would have thought of. Coming here seemed to have kicked Draco's initiative to life. He leaned forwards through the bars and spoke, hardly moving his lips. "Mother."

Lucius's head jerked, and then lifted. The mad blue eyes stared at Draco, who flinched, but didn't back away. His face looked pale and strained in the small sparks of light. Harry looked at him and wondered where all this strength had come from. Probably it had been in Draco all along, but before now, he hadn't been through circumstances dire enough to call it to life.

"I know that's you," Draco whispered. "And I know that you probably can't come back to me, that you're mad, but..." He exhaled, and let the sound die in aimless whistling through the grey stone before he continued. "I know one spell that might work. I'm going to cast it now." He reached into his robe for his wand.

Three things happened at once. The wolfwere growled behind Harry, a sound so fierce and wild that it sounded almost ecstatic.

Lucius lurched to his feet inside the cell and shrieked, "No!"

And the Lucius Harry and Draco had faced in the Forest of Dean exploded into being in the corridor behind Draco, Pansy Parkinson beside him, clutching a blood-drenched silver harp.


	33. Down to Will

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirty-Three—Down to Will_

Things happened very fast.

Harry tried to turn towards Draco, ready to knock him to the floor and stand guard over him. But that left the wolfwere unshielded, and Narcissa-Lucius reached through the bars so rapidly that he had no time to put even that minor plan into action before her fingers locked around his arm. She held him still, and Parkinson turned towards him, raised that harp he'd already seen her with in the Forest of Dean, and hurled it straight at him.

The harp struck Harry, and a strange vibration seemed to ring all through his bones. He felt the grip that Narcissa had on his arm as burning, and then as ice. He panted, he shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, the corridor was wavering up and down and he had dropped to one knee without quite remembering how he got there. He knew that his bones were trembling on the edge of liquefying, though.

Lucius stepped towards him, and his face was twisted in that kind of superior smile that Harry had become very familiar with from his visions of Voldemort. It didn't look any more attractive with grey eyes and those proud Malfoy features. And he was far less handsome than his son, Harry thought, with the kind of rambling, wandering thoughts that seemed to have become the norm since the harp struck him.

"Hold him still," Lucius whispered, his voice as tender as though he spoke to someone dying in a hospital bed. "Then I can touch him with this." He held out a blade that narrowed to a point so thin Harry thought it was a needle at first. "And that is the end of our problems."

The wolfwere had gone somewhere. Harry couldn't see through the Disillusionment Charm, not with his eyes and his brain spinning the way they were. Parkinson hung behind Lucius, panting with excitement and not about to interfere.

And they had discounted Draco as of no importance at all.

That was a mistake, Harry thought, as Draco's voice cut through the din in the corridor, as thin and sharp as the blade that Lucius was going to use.

"That's enough, Father."

Harry felt the grip on his arm shake as the Lucius in the cell looked at Draco, too, given that name. But he—she—whatever he was supposed to call them—had also reacted when Draco said that he knew a spell to separate Lucius and Narcissa. There must be _some _sort of consciousness left in them, Harry imagined, something that recognized the danger that Draco might present if he really did know such a spell.

That didn't give Harry much sympathy for them, or any. But it did leave him some hope. If they could part them, then Draco might have a chance at his family left.

And strange how that was all he could think about now, when the threat to his life was plain and clear.

"Draco," Lucius, the one in front of Harry, said. He sounded faintly puzzled, the way Harry thought he might have if a wall had started talking. "Stand back. We can speak later, and I can explain what happened."

"I know what happened." Draco moved into the corner of Harry's vision. His hand was held out in front of him, light and straight, his fingers laid along the shaft of his wand as though it was an arrow he would shoot at his father's heart. Harry wasn't sure he understood the expression on Draco's face, except that it wasn't the fear that had seemed native to it during this year so far. "That doesn't mean that I agree with it, or want to feel loyalty to you when you feel none to me."

"Not loyal to you?" The Lucius in the cell spoke from behind Harry, their breath thick and sweet against the back of his neck. "Is that what you think? Draco, we are more loyal than you know, loyal to the ideals of our family that we are going to support. This imprisonment is only for a short time, and then I will be free—"

"Which one of you?" Draco asked.

There was a silence that was broken only by the rich sounds coming out of Parkinson's throat, the panting that Harry didn't think she could help or stop by now. He had the feeling that she had changed forever when she shed her blood on the harp. On the other hand, that might make her less of an immediate danger.

And his head was beginning to clear, although he still couldn't really come to the point or form a coherent plan of attack. He did, though, start easing his hand down towards his boot. He didn't have his wand in his hand anymore, he didn't know what had happened to it, but there was something else there that might help him, one of the plans he had formed just in case Chervets betrayed them.

"I will be free," said the Lucius in front of Harry at last, shifting that little blade as though he couldn't wait to stab someone with it. "I am Lucius Malfoy. We are both, we are one now, and there is only one."

Draco strode one step forwards. Staring at him as if fascinated, Lucius let him do it, but the one behind Harry clutched him so that their nails cut into his arm. Harry caught Draco's eye and tried to blink rapidly, tried to convey the idea that he might not be that much help if Draco relied on him to do something.

Draco seemed to understand, if the way he turned away from Harry was any indication. And he looked taller and straighter as he did it, his hair acquiring an unusual sheen, a tremor rippling up his body that firmed his spine. Maybe it mattered to him, Harry thought, to be the strong one for once, or at least someone who was cooperating in his own rescue instead of standing around and getting splattered with werewolf blood.

"I see two bodies here," Draco said. "And only one of them can emerge from this prison. And others will see two bodies, as well, and not know which way to turn, not know which one to arrest. Is one of you always going to stay here?" He looked straight behind Harry this time, and Harry wondered what emotions softened his eyes as he said, "Mother. You gave up your life and your existence for him. But does that mean that you have to stay in prison for all time? What are you going to _do _when it ends? You chose a permanent solution for a temporary problem."

The world changed very fast again. The Lucius in front of Harry spun away, aiming his blade, and rushed at Draco. The one behind Harry was uncertain, their hands spasming open and down. Parkinson tottered a step forwards, and then stopped, staring down at the harp, lost and confused.

Draco braced to meet his father, and Harry heard a cry from behind him, loud-voiced, as the second Lucius started to cast a spell.

The air blurred and shivered as the wolfwere jumped through the bars and crashed into the second Lucius, ripping and biting.

Harry surged to his feet and flung the Wheeze he had owled George for a few weeks ago, with the vague idea of cheering Draco up, straight at the Lucius attacking Draco. Draco had used his wand to turn the blade's thrust aside and was now dodging back and forth in front of his father, while Lucius screamed and aimed at him again. The blade was acting more like a wand, after all, Harry thought; it looked like it wouldn't function away from him, or he would simply have flung it.

The Lucius in the cell screamed, and then gurgled. The Wheeze burst into multi-colored sparks and noise right above the other Lucius's ear, and he jumped and started. Draco spun past the wild thrust of the blade and came in close.

Parkinson tried to hit Harry with the harp again.

Harry dropped straight down to avoid her, then found his wand near at hand and cast a Tripping Jinx and a Summoning Charm at the same time. He didn't dare use stronger spells, because, given his tendency to kill in battle, he'd probably end up killing her. And he wanted to rescue her, bring her out of this, if it could be done. He wasn't sure that she understood what she was doing right now any more than Narcissa did.

The harp flew out of Parkinson's hands and towards Harry at the same moment as she sprawled face-down on the stone. Harry cast a Shield Charm to deflect it and a second hex that made it spin into the wall, shuddering all over the way Harry had when it hit him. The strings tore, and the gleam of vivid magic along its edges suddenly flickered off.

Harry heard growls coming from the cell as he bound Parkinson, but couldn't bring himself to look in that direction. Not yet. He wasn't sure what had made the wolfwere attack the body of the Lucius who hadn't actually done his pups harm, but he would have to make sense of the bloodied ruin later.

For now, he looked for Draco.

He was still dueling with his father, hexes flying from his wand and Lucius trying to stab him with the blade. Once, Harry thought he saw the blade about to go into Draco's eye, and screamed a warning. Draco dodged it and continued pressing forwards, forcing Lucius onto his heels again and again.

Draco's face was grim, dry, drained. His eyes looked as though they had seen death get up and dance. Harry had seen that look in the mirror more times than he could count, since the war, but he hadn't thought he would ever see it on Draco.

And he mourned for the necessity, even though he was also proud that Draco was holding his own.

But he hadn't known Draco was such a good duelist. If he had been, Harry thought, then he might have had problems confronting Draco in the Room of Requirement. But he could have watched, and he could have learned.

And he had the _will, _now, to confront his father and hold his own in the battle before that. That had been all that was missing in the Forest of Dean, Harry thought, heart hammering as he watched, and other times, too. It wasn't that Draco was a horrible person, or a coward, even if he had made the wrong decisions in the past. It was that until this moment, or maybe this day, or maybe the day that he'd brewed the Dreamless Sleep Potion he gave to Chervets, he hadn't had the determination that would let him use his natural qualities.

Now he did.

Draco cast Body-Binds, Leg-Locking Jinxes, Blasting Curses, and Firework Curses, one after another and with great precision. Harry had the impression that Lucius would have been countering with fancier spells, but turning his wand into a blade, or using it instead of his wand, or whatever had really happened, limited him. All he could do was whip his hand back and forth and try to stab his son. Draco kept leaping back out of reach before he circled in again.

Then there came a complicated moment when Harry thought for a moment Draco was dead, since the blade had flickered out to touch his throat, and knowing Lucius, there was probably some kind of nasty poison on the end, and Harry had taken a step forwards with his own throat so dry that he didn't know what he was going to say next—

And Draco twisted again and came up, unmarked. But only a few inches of the blade hung in Lucius's hand, snapped off near the hilt like a broken needle. He stared at it, his mouth slightly open in a way that made him look as mad as his wife. Well, Harry thought giddily, Draco had said that the body-sharing spell, or the body-creating spell, or whatever it should be referred to, drove both people mad in the end.

For a moment, Draco stood there looking at his father. Harry didn't think Lucius met his eyes once. He continued to gape at the shattered blade in his hand, and Draco's mouth tightened when he saw that. Harry didn't think he was feeling especially pitying, though.

"Father," Draco said, voice so soft that it made Harry's ears ache. "It doesn't have to end this way. I can—I can make sure that you aren't punished for what happened." Harry ground his teeth, but said nothing. The Aurors might be willing to grant Harry special consideration given his status, and while another thing he wouldn't do for Draco was get Lucius's crimes excused, he might be able to convince the Ministry to move him to St. Mungo's instead of Azkaban. No one deserved Azkaban. "You can still have a life." Draco half-closed his eyes and clenched his hands. "I was telling the truth. There is a spell I discovered that might disrupt the one Mother cast. I—don't think that I can cast it right now, not at my current level of strength, but there is someone who can." He turned his head, his eyes seeking out Harry.

Harry nodded at once. Despite the great mass of things he would not do for Draco, a number that seemed to be growing at every hour, this was one he still could.

Lucius moved in a serpent-like blur, seizing something from his pocket and drawing back his hand to throw it at Draco.

_He shouldn't have taken his eyes off him, _Harry thought, and lurched into clumsy motion, wondering how in the world he was going to get there before Lucius used the wand, or whatever it was, on Draco. _And I shouldn't have waited so long to nod. _Why _did I wait so long?_

But then—

Then it appeared that both he, and Lucius, might have underestimated Draco.

Draco whipped back towards Lucius, and appeared to unfold as he did so, to grow taller and stronger, straighter and more fascinating. His hand rose, and Harry saw the shine of what he at first thought was a matching blade in it. His breath caught in his throat, even though he was still running and he thought he would need all his breath for _that_. But he believed he was going to watch Draco kill his father, and that took precedence over a few trifling physical limitations.

No. It wasn't a blade. It was another potions vial.

Draco threw it into Lucius's face, where it appeared to explode. Lucius sank down choking, his hands flying to his neck and clutching there. His face was red. His eyes streamed what Harry hoped were tears but which looked thicker and more dramatic than that. He kicked and drummed with his heels for a moment, and then fainted. Harry could hear his breathing from where he now stood beside Draco, though, so he knew he wasn't dead.

"What was that?" Harry whispered, as Draco stared at his father with an expression so complex that Harry would have trembled if asked to define it.

Draco started and turned towards him, his mouth set in a fierce frown, his hand rising as if he thought he might need to throw another potion and Harry would be the next target. Harry stepped back with his hands raised, keeping his face as blank as possible. Draco flexed his fingers and took a breath that went on endlessly.

"A variant on a Pepper-Up Potion," he whispered. "I got the instructions for it from the same book that taught me to brew that special Dreamless Sleep. It mentioned that it could be used as a weapon and was dangerous to someone who spilled it on themselves instead of drinking it. I—reasoned out the rest."

Harry just pressed Draco's hand, and said nothing. Draco leaned against him for a moment and closed his eyes.

Then, because someone had to and Harry didn't want Draco to be the one who had the first sight of it, he turned around and faced the cell where Narcissa-Lucius had been, before the wolfwere sprang in and devoured her, or them.

He had thought he would see a dead body. He had not expected to see a living one, cowering against the far wall of the cell, while the wolfwere snarled and spun around something thick and dark in its teeth. Harry would have said congealed blood at first, but this writhed as if it had its own will and kept curling up what looked like a scorpion stinger in its attempt to get at the wolfwere. Harry blinked and stared.

The wolfwere tossed the thing into the air and then backed up beneath it, judging its fall as skillfully as Harry could have judged a Snitch's. When it lunged and snapped this time, Harry heard a faint wail as the thick thing dissolved. Moments later, the wolfwere was licking bloody jaws, but the blood faded as Harry watched.

Whoever or whatever was now in Lucius's second body went on cowering against the wall. Apparently the wolfwere hadn't stolen its soul or whatever could keep it alive.

"What was that?" Draco whispered. He had evidently turned around to watch sometime during the ritual, and his voice was as thick as the dark thing had been, with what Harry thought was revulsion.

The wolfwere shook himself all over and trotted towards the front of the cell, squeezing himself sideways to fit through the bars. Harry saw bones and muscles shifting under his skin, turning smaller, and then growing larger again once he was past the obstacle. Harry gripped his tongue firmly between his teeth and told himself _not _to throw up, that he had seen more disgusting things on their march down here, in the way the Azkaban prisoners were treated.

"What was that?" Draco repeated, stepping forwards as the wolfwere emerged into the corridor again and sat down to lap at some ruffled fur on his paw.

The wolfwere glanced up with his eyes as golden as the full moon. "I sensed the mind that harmed my pups in that body," he said, tilting his head towards the cell. "It took me some time to be sure. But I went in and drew out the thing that made it harm them, and now it is dead. I could not kill either body. What had harmed my family would only flee to the other one. When I knew where it was, though, I could pull it out and kill it."

Harry blinked, and then shook his head. "Draco?" he asked, turning instinctively to him. "You're the one who understands this spell better than I do. Do you know what he means?"

Draco bit his lip and stood still for a moment, his hand reaching out as though he would lay on the wolfwere's ruff. The wolfwere stopped grooming himself and sat still, eyes fixed on Draco in a fashion that was almost friendly. But it was clear that he wouldn't tolerate any attempt to touch him, and after a moment, Draco shook his head and let his hand fall.

"I think that the mind my parents shared could go back and forth between their bodies," he whispered. "So the bargain might not have been as horrible as it seemed. Sometimes one of them could experience freedom while the other endured imprisonment. But I didn't think my mother would ever let my father feel that way, I thought she would spend all her time here…" He let his voice trail off, and stared at the wolfwere.

The wolfwere yawned at him, and then scratched the back of his neck with one foot. "You don't understand the nature of the experience," he said. "There was a desire in that mind that could move from body to body. I found it and slaughtered it. Now the desire is gone."

Draco swallowed, and nodded. He seemed on the edges of understanding, despite what the wolfwere had said, so Harry decided to shut up and wait for a while. Perhaps Draco would explain it to him later, and, well, if he didn't, then it wasn't as though Harry had to know the answer right this second.

"Can you tell me where the desire came from?" Draco whispered. "And why he wanted the blood of your pups?"

"The desire for power," the wolfwere said calmly. "For mastery." He spoke the words as though he had heard them pronounced but didn't quite know what they meant or what they were for, Harry thought. A moment later, the wolfwere snorted, and something dark flew from his nostrils and landed in the middle of the corridor. Both Harry and Draco ignored it, though Harry thought he saw a muscle jump in the corner of Draco's jaw. "He was using some kind of magic that needed blood, and he thought the blood of my kind would make it more powerful." He nodded at the silver harp lying on the floor. "There is something like it there, something like what he was trying to make or build."

"Yes," Draco said, and his face seemed to grow pale and narrow. "I am going to have to investigate the experiments that my father was doing, what he knew or suspected or controlled…" He blew out his breath and shook his head. "At any rate. Do you know where the desire came from?"

The wolfwere looked at Draco, tilting his head in the way that Harry had sometimes seen a curious dog do. Not that he was about to say that in front of the wolfwere; he thought it might get _his _desires torn out of his mind. "How am I to know, if you do not? You are the one who should know the minds of your parents."

"Yes, I should have," Draco said softly, and turned to look into the cell. The Lucius there stared back at him, and then turned and looked away. Harry thought there was more sense in the blue eyes than there had been. Maybe Draco was right and his mother would be able to return to some sense of her own individual self.

"They cannot be the same now," the wolfwere said. "That magic made them the same, made them one, based on what was in their minds while it existed." When it was cast, Harry thought the wolfwere was trying to say, but either he didn't know that for sure or he didn't care that much about the clarity of his words. "Now it has gone. The tree cannot stand when its roots have been pulled out."

Draco swallowed. "Then I stand a chance of having both of them back," he said, and glanced over his shoulder at the Lucius on the floor. "Maybe."

The wolfwere simply yawned. The Disillusionment Charm had long since broken from him, and Harry moved to recast it. The wolfwere turned his head and stared into Harry's eyes for a long moment before he permitted it.

"You did what you said you would do," he said.

Harry nodded back, thinking that this was the closest to a thanks that the wolfwere knew how to give, and then cast the spell. He glanced up the corridor, but saw no sign of Chervets rushing towards them. "Why do you think Chervets didn't come?" he muttered to Draco, as he helped him Disillusion the Lucius on the floor of the corridor and then wrap him in the Invisibility Cloak. He scooped up and Disillusioned Parkinson, too, though after a few spells that should keep her unconscious for a long time.

"He's been paid to stay out of the way," Draco said, and his mouth curved up and his eyes flashed. "And Azkaban guards keep to the letter and not the spirit of their bargains."

Harry nodded. He could be glad of that for Draco's sake, even though it only contributed to the sickening ball of disgust in his stomach that was his determination to do something about Azkaban.

He paused and looked back at the Lucius in the cell. "Should we be freeing your mother?" he asked.

Draco shook his head. "I think their minds will pass back and forth more easily now, and—I hate to leave her here, but she chose it. I can work on separating them just as well when I have this one of their bodies at home."

Harry hesitated, but at last nodded. In the end, he wouldn't let Lucius be declared completely innocent, and he didn't want to leave anyone in the prison, but this seemed the best solution they could have for right now.

Draco did pause before they Disillusioned themselves and called for Chervets, and leaned forwards to press his brow against Harry's. Harry blinked at him from a few centimeters away, and felt his eyes trying to unfocus.

"Thank you," Draco whispered.

"I didn't do anything, really," Harry said. "You saved yourself."

Draco smiled. "But you were the one who let me." And then he Levitated Lucius's body in the Cloak, and Disillusioned himself, and there was nothing for Harry to do but to make sure he himself and the wolfwere were hidden, and then follow.


	34. Coming to Rest

Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the end of _Parsimony. _Here's to sorting out last chapters and thanking the people who read to the end.

_Chapter Thirty-Four—Coming to Rest_

"Mr. Potter. This is…well."

Harry looked up at McGonagall and smiled in sympathy. To be fair to her, he wasn't sure what _he _would have said, either, if someone had walked in and laid this cluster of events he had just told McGonagall about on _his_ shoulders.

McGonagall blinked a little, and used one finger to push her glasses up her nose. "You are admitting that you left school, bribed an Azkaban guard, dumped Pansy Parkinson outside the Ministry with a note that she had tried to kill you, and watched a duel near one of the lowest cells?" she asked, as if giving Harry the chance to back away and admit that those words weren't right, that something less damning was true.

Harry nodded, then paused. "Oh, right," he said. "I forgot."

McGonagall at once brightened.

Harry met her eyes and gave a wobbly little sigh. "I also decided that I'm going to reform Azkaban no matter who tries to get in my way," he said, and gave her a blinding smile as she sat there staring at him.

Finally, the Headmistress put her hand over her eyes and sighed. "I don't know what I can possibly do to you," she said. "It seems that betraying your secrets would mean betraying a good deal of others. There could be a panic attack, or a reaction from the Ministry, if it was known that Azkaban guards are so easily bribable. I would look silly for having hired a professor who was a bribable Auror, and the reputation of the Aurors would suffer. _Not _something that needs to be happening, now, as the Ministry is still trying to draw our world together. And there is the matter of what one would do with Mr. Malfoy, who did not kill anyone, and the wolfwere, who murdered a desire…"

"Yes, Headmistress," Harry murmured, bobbing his head as though that would keep the grin from breaking out across his face. "It's _very _hard."

McGonagall reared back and glared at him. "_You _are not to speak," she said. "Give me time to reason it out."

Harry thought about saluting her, but decided that would count as violating the order not to speak, and he had pushed McGonagall about as far as he could right now. He settled back in his chair and grinned instead.

McGonagall rose, and sighed again, and took her glasses off to dust on her sleeves as she paced back and forth. When she faced him again, though, those glasses were firmly in place, and she pointed one finger at him with the robe sliding back from her wrist like it was the hand of fate. Harry looked at her in polite interest and said nothing.

"There are too many reasons to keep this secret," McGonagall said severely. "From the general public, at least. _You _and Mr. Malfoy shall have detentions. Many, many detentions. From writing lines to scrubbing out the worst of Horace's cauldrons. If you insist on acting like children, then you shall be treated like them."

Harry knew she meant the sneaking out and the lying and the insistence on getting whatever they wanted when she spoke of childish behavior. He still had to bite his tongue, hard, to avoid asking her if she knew a lot of children who broke into Azkaban and bribed the guards. He just bowed his head penitently instead.

McGonagall grumbled something inaudible this time, and took her seat behind her desk again. "Do you think Mr. Malfoy will agree to this punishment, then?" she asked abruptly.

"Yes, Headmistress," Harry said at once, looking up. It was true that Draco would be preoccupied with the spell to separate his parents now, and winning back the affection of his friends, but Harry frankly didn't care. Skip this punishment, and something worse would happen. They had pushed the Headmistress as far as she could be pushed, and only the fact that she liked him had prevented a worse punishment, Harry knew. "I'll make sure he does."

McGonagall gave him a thin smile. "Good." She spent a moment with her fingers drumming, and although Harry would have liked to go back to the Tower and get some sleep, she hadn't dismissed him, so he didn't move. Then she leaned forwards, head cocked as if she was a bird going to peck him, and said, "Albus told me once that the Hat had considered you for Slytherin, but you chose Gryffindor. That's true?"

Harry nodded.

McGonagall shut her eyes, shook her head, and dropped against the back of her chair. "And _now _I understand," she said. "Albus told me the same thing had happened to him. I think you chose the House in which you could make the most _mischief._" She seemed to notice the grin Harry could no longer suppress out of the corner of her eye, and her voice turned cool. "Back to the Tower, Mr. Potter, and report to Mr. Filch at eight tomorrow evening for your first detention."

* * *

"I don't know what to _do_."

Harry looked up. He hadn't seen Ron and Hermione last night, since even they had given up waiting for him and gone to sleep by the time he reached the Tower. But he recognized the particular sharp tone in Hermione's voice as she leaned back from her book and rubbed her eyes, and he recognized the way Ron hovered over her, too.

After all, he had done that plenty of times himself with Draco in the past few weeks.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, switching seats to one by them and casting a _Muffliato _so other people at the table couldn't listen in. Ron nodded to him. Hermione, who usually still objected to that spell, rubbed her face, sniffed, and looked at Harry with a dull sheen in her eyes that worried him more than he had words to express.

"I've tried all the charms that I can think of to find my parents," she whispered. "Blood-based, location-based, charms that are supposed to find any Muggle in the world for you, and different memory charms. I can't find them. They're just _gone_."

Harry hesitated for a second. Then he said, "You did try the Muggle ways, right? Looking their names up in the directories and lists that Muggles keep?" He winced as Hermione glared at him.

"Yes, of course I did," she snapped. "But either they took false names—that was one of the suggestions I gave them, although I don't know if they followed it—or they don't appear in the records I've checked. And I've checked everything I could _think _of." She bowed her head and sniffed. "And there's a limit to the stories I can tell people to get them to let me look at records. I'm not all that good at lying."

Ron met Harry's eyes over her head for a moment of incredulous disbelief. Harry just shrugged back. Lying for her friends or to survive in the middle of a war was a little different from lying to find her parents, he thought, at least for someone like Hermione.

"Then use spells to make them ignore you," Harry said, quietly but firmly. "Break into the offices they won't let you into, and look at the records they'd keep from you. I know," he added, when Hermione gaped at him, "you don't want to. But this is serious, Hermione. It'll destroy you not to get them back, I know. Your life is at stake."

Hermione wavered for a moment. Then she said, "The Australian Ministry would still notice me and arrest me for using illegal magic on Muggles."

"Not if none of the spells you use are actually illegal." Harry grinned at her. "You'd have to study the laws and find out what those are, but if you avoid them, and act contrite if they catch you, and agree that you won't do anything again, and are careful in general, it should work."

Hermione blinked. Then she said, "And if I needed help, I could tell them about my famous friend who has good friends in the British Ministry?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know how many friends I'm going to have in the Ministry when I start working on it. But you could certainly tell them you have a _famous _friend. I'm going to be even more famous than usual pretty soon, when I start making a nuisance of myself."

Hermione frowned. "What are you going to do?"

"Change Azkaban," Harry said. "No one deserves to be there, the way it is. Change the Ministry from the inside so that conflicts between the various Departments don't overrule their duty to the public and prevent them from releasing information that would help keep us safe, the way they're doing right now. Make sure that people know some of the stupid things the officials might do when they select Wizengamot members." A few of the things Klein had hinted about to him made him grind his teeth when he thought about them. "Get fairer treatment for the Death Eaters and the children of Death Eaters. Come up with alternatives to Memory Charms on Muggles and fairer ways to treat magical creatures." He paused, then added, "Well, that's the start, anyway."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione was looking at him with her eyes shining, but also with a certain wariness in her face. "I thought you wanted to be done with that. You told me once that you were just going to help your friends, after this past summer."

"This is helping my friends," Harry said, thinking of Draco, and Snape, and the wolfwere, and Hermione, who might still face blood prejudice if she ever wanted a job in the Ministry, and Ron, who might become part of the corrupt Aurors if things were left as they stood. And even Draco's friends, who might become his friends, too, in a cautious way. "This is something that can't be left to go on."

Ron chuckled. "I think the Ministry's going to regret that you survived the war more than You-Know-Who ever did."

Harry grinned fiercely at Ron and then turned to Hermione before she could start scolding Ron for not speaking Voldemort's name. "Will you try, Hermione? What I suggested, with the Muggle officials?"

She spent a moment frowning at nothing, and then she met his eyes and nodded.

"I don't know if it'll work," Harry had to add, feeling almost sorry as new hope sprang to life in her face. He'd hate to promise her something and then not have it work out. "But I hope it does."

She squeezed his hand and just nodded. Ron took his hand from the other side, and Harry leaned back, safe and content and loved.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and yawned. He didn't see an owl sitting on his bed, and for a moment, he was about to disregard the sensation that a message was waiting for him as just a delusion and go back to sleep.

Then he realized that a letter was lying next to his pillow. Harry stared, then snorted. It would be just like Snape to send him an owl, but have it leave again if no response was expected. And given what he had said the last time they spoke, Harry thought it was highly likely that he would never see Snape again.

He unfolded the parchment and studied the gleaming blue letters by the faint light of his wand, after making sure his bed curtains were drawn so the light wouldn't wake anyone up.

_Potter,_

_ I know what happened when you visited Azkaban. Draco has sent me a long letter that rambled on in far more detail than I would ever have wished to know about his parents, and the spells he cast, and your heroic actions._

Harry had to grin despite himself. It was a little hard for him to picture Draco talking about him as a hero, but it was _very _easy to picture him annoying Snape, since Harry thought most of his students had done it on a daily basis.

_You took foolish risks, and once again have escaped with the reward of your neck and the punishment of only a few detentions. I would congratulate you, but at the moment, I find that old memories are too much for me._

Harry rolled his eyes. Snape was probably thinking of the fact that the Marauders hadn't really been punished for nearly sending him in to his death where Remus was waiting. Well, Harry was _sorry _for that, but he wasn't going to worry about it now.

_ Do not expect me to save you again. If you choose to redeem the debts that I still owe you, an owl addressed to me will find me, as Draco's owl did. But I will give no Floo address, and no name under which I now intend to sell my potions, and I will thank you to reveal my existence to no one._

No signature, of course. Harry regarded the letter for a minute, and then, even though Snape would probably have told him to throw it away or at least burn it, folded it up carefully and stuck it under his pillow.

Perhaps someday, he would reach out to Snape again. But not to ask for help, the way that Snape would probably suggest. Simply to redeem the debt, and to help him, in any way he could. He wondered if Snape would ever contact him.

And then he snorted, and closed his eyes. If there was anything the last few months had proven, it was that there was nothing predictable about Severus Snape.

* * *

"Harry, can I talk to you?"

Harry's stomach clenched, and he had a moment when he wanted to pretend that he hadn't heard Draco's hesitant voice and simply walk on. But the voice had had a low, cautious, rustling tone in it, and Harry nodded and turned despite himself.

Draco, whom Harry hadn't seen much of over the last month since McGonagall had started assigning them separate detentions, stood leaning against the wall of the side corridor down into the dungeons with his arms folded, staring at Harry. Harry could feel the lump building up in his throat. He knew Draco had been busy with his parents and his friends, but to ignore Harry's greetings and owls and turn away when he saw him…Harry thought he knew where this was going, and it probably wasn't any place he wanted it to go.

But Draco had always been the one who had to make the choice in the way they did things, at least once he recovered his strength and mental balance. So Harry just held his eyes, and waited.

Draco licked his lips, shuffled his feet, and nodded. "I think it would be best if we did this in private," he said, and turned towards the Room of Requirement.

Harry took a moment to steady himself before he followed. His heart was going so fast that his face felt hot, or maybe he was flushing and Draco just hadn't said anything because he was involved in his own emotions. Either way, Harry marched to what he thought was probably his doom with his head held high and his feet echoing the way his heartbeat blazed through and shook him.

Draco closed the door of his room behind them and turned to face Harry in the middle of it. Harry had thought they might sit down in the chairs they'd used the night Draco had confessed lying about the Memory Charm, but no. This was probably going to be a short interview, then. Harry locked his hands in front of him and waited.

Draco muttered to himself and shook his head for a moment, then sighed and said, "I don't know how to tell you this."

_Yeah. He never loved me. He doesn't want me anymore. _Harry reminded himself, again, that he could get over this and go on in the end, and managed to smile. After all, Draco didn't seem to feel much better about this than he did. At least that was an argument that he had felt something at one point in time, even if he didn't now. "Just say it in the simplest words possible, then. I've found that that's the best way."

Draco blinked at him. "Really? But some of what you say—I mean, what you've said—it was eloquent."

"Not on purpose." Harry turned away to study the room's immense fireplace. "I didn't plan it to be that way. Things just kind of popped out and kept going. And then I felt strongly about others, like you getting a second chance and the wolfwere not being killed, and it proceeded from there." They hadn't been back from Azkaban for six seconds before the wolfwere bolted for the Forest. Harry doubted that they would ever see him again. His involvement with the human world had ended, and he probably thought that escaping alive was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him.

"Do you think you could teach me that?" From the sound of his voice, Draco had moved closer to him.

Harry blinked and looked over at him. Draco's face was a very pale pink, but he met Harry's eyes and went on meeting them. At least he didn't intend to cut off all contact, then.

"I could try," Harry said, still cautious. "But like I said, I don't plan it, so it's not as though I could come up with things to teach you, really. It's just a matter of recognizing the right moment and saying the right thing."

"I could use some help in recognizing the right moments, then." Draco swallowed, and picked his way closer. "I have to tell you this. I wish you could tell me how." He exhaled hard, and licked his lips.

Harry held his eyes, and tried to smile, while inside it felt as if he might shake himself apart, not from heartbreak but from nerves. "Simple words, remember."

"Right." Draco nodded, and Harry thought he could see the same steely determination settle over his expression that he had seen the night they were in Azkaban, which might or might not be a good thing for Harry himself. "Then—I'd like to date you, but I don't know how to do it, with my life such a mess."

Harry took a deep breath, and his lungs expanded and exhaled, and his heart lifted and beat its wings like a bird.

"That you want to date me is enough," he said. "At least, if you're sure. You know how difficult it's going to be, once everyone finds out."

"I know that, yeah," Draco said. "Daphne's already yelled at me for wanting to be with you, fit to bring down the dungeons on our heads if not for all the spells that Slytherin used to strengthen them when they founded the school."

Harry smiled, distracted from himself for a second. "So Daphne is your friend again, then?"

Draco hesitated, then nodded. "And Gregory. And Millicent. And almost all the others except Blaise."

Harry sighed. "Does he attack you? Prank you? Complain about you where the others can hear?"

"He did try all of that." When Draco smiled, he looked inexpressibly more confident than the boy Harry had seen on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the year. "But I fought him, and pranked him back with better ones than he came up with, and pointed out that I had given him as many apologies as I could. He'd started to mock me for the apologies, too," Draco added in a low voice, clenching his hands for a moment in front of him. "I gave him as much as I intend to give. He can take it or leave it."

Harry understood why Draco had barely talked to him for a month, now. Coming up with other pranks and fighting Blaise and working on getting his parents back must have taken all the time he could find.

"What about your parents?" he asked quietly.

Draco hesitated. Then he said, "My father—the one I took home—talks more and more like my father every day. I bribed Chervets with another dose of that potion, and he let me in for long enough to see my mother." He fell silent.

Harry waited as long as he could, and then prompted him, "She's no different?"

"Her face looks different," Draco conceded. "Her eyes. And once or twice, when I provoked her, she talked to me the way that my mother used to talk." He pushed his hand over his face, from his fringe to his chin, as if he could scrub some of the things that he was saying away. "But I don't know if I can ever get her out of that body."

"I could help you research, if you like," Harry offered, when a few more moments had passed in silence and he thought Draco might not reject him. "We made a pretty good research team when we were working on the Memory Charms, even though you solved that problem yourself."

"You were the one who gave me the time and the courage to," Draco said quietly. "Including time alone, and knowing when to stand back."

Harry's heartbeat soared again at what he saw in Draco's eyes, but he tried to keep both his smile and his words simple, the way he had told Draco to, instead of reaching out and being disappointed. "Well. You know. That was the hardest thing for me to learn. Letting someone stand alone, instead of trying to guide and guard them all the time."

Draco snorted gently and rocked on his heels. "You did a fine job. _I_ think the lesson you haven't learned is when to be selfish."

Harry snorted in return. "I came back at the beginning of the year with every intention to be. I thought I was only going to help my friends. But that flew out of my head when I saw you on the Hogwarts Express."

"And now?" Draco took a step nearer, his voice eager again. "Have you stopped?"

"No," Harry admitted. "I want to change Azkaban, and the Ministry, and the way that the Aurors act, and the way that our whole bloody _society _treats magical creatures. That's because that's what I want, because Azkaban and Klein and the way that Klein thought of the wolfwere offended _me_. But Hermione still seems to think it's not very selfish."

"Maybe you need someone to help you think that way, then," Draco said, with the worst attempt at casualness Harry had ever heard. "You know. Just someone who can help you along with the worst of it. Someone who can ensure that you get the rest you need and don't exhaust yourself trying to save people who will never accept you anyway."

Harry found himself smiling. He didn't plan it. He would have held it back if he had, because he thought a smile at the moment would probably scare Draco off. But he found himself reaching out, too, his fingers trailing through Draco's fringe and lingering on his forehead as though he was the one with the lightning bolt scar. Draco shut his eyes and stood there, tense as a wild thing.

"I'd like that," Harry whispered. "As long as that person would love me, and let me love him."

Draco's eyes opened wide. He swallowed. Then he visibly grabbed his courage by the ears and said, "H-he might."

They moved at the same time, forwards and forwards, and then they were kissing hard and fierce enough that Harry knew he wasn't the only one who had missed this. He sighed into Draco's mouth, and tightened his hands on Draco's shoulders.

They could be each other's strength. He knew it. Ron and Hermione would maybe point out that Harry had done the most supporting of Draco so far, but look at the way Draco had stood on his own when he was rescuing his friends and during the battle with his father. He didn't lack courage or determination; he just needed someone else to be there to help him shine out with them, sometimes.

And didn't Harry, and didn't everybody?

Draco's hands closed down on Harry's shoulders in return, and while Harry couldn't be sure of the exact wording of his thoughts, he knew it had to be close, had to be similar. They weren't letting each other go.

And Harry kissed him again, in celebration of and tribute to a future that was looking increasingly likely.

**The End**


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